


Love is too Plebeian

by Blue_Jaye_Fevre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And some sexually inappropriate situations, Awkward Family Dinners, Bleeding Heart Jackson, British Isaac, But I really love Danny otherwise, Coffeeshops, Feels, Fluff, High School AU, Hockey, Humor, Jerkwad Danny, M/M, Nerdiness, Opposite World, Punk Laura, Religious Zealot Erica, Religious Zealotry, Slash, Slow Burn, Tabletop RPGs, Track Star Lydia, Tutoring, and making fun of Teen Wolf being outrageously campy on occasions, but it's all in good fun, but it's still an exceptionally chill and silly ride, mentions of drug usage, movies - Freeform, not so slow anymore, slight crack, some violence, sterek, there is some crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Jaye_Fevre/pseuds/Blue_Jaye_Fevre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is a gangly mess of limbs who begins his sophomore year of High School as a nerdy, socially maladjusted pariah. Stiles "Iceman" Stilinski is the Captain of the Beacon Hills Hockey Team and a gigantic slab of brooding beefcake. Will they recognise their feelings for each other in spite of their flaws and an ensemble of insane friends and family members? </p><p>Warning: Rated E for Mentions of Sexual Situations, Teenage Sexual Tension, Mentions of Drug Usage, Casual Drug Usage, Nudity, Depictions of Violence, Abuse, Bullying, Religious Zealotry, Satire of said Religious Satire</p><p>Opposite World High School AU - See Authors Notes for details</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to "Love is too Plebeian" fellow readers!
> 
> Here's how this story works: It's an opposite world HS AU. Basically, take the real world AU and apply it to Teen Wolf, then take everyone's Character and flip their attitudes and actions. Derek Hale as a lanky, socially inept gay nerd? Check. Jackson Whittemore as a bleeding heart with a conscience? Check. So on and so forth do the opposites roll. As I am a devout pop culture follower, expect to see plenty of references to TV shows, movies, books, video games, board games, music, art, sports, politics and other trivial knowledge as I flesh out the characters. I own neither Teen Wolf nor anything I mention.

The alarm clock went off at 7:05 that morning.

Derek faintly remembered getting up and turning it off before stumbling back into his bed and falling asleep.

The second alarm clock he set for himself went off fifteen minutes later.

Derek grumbled and rolled to his side-

-And rolled off of his bed and onto the floor. 

“Sonfrughmothfher!” Derek grumbled into the floor. It was comfortable, but not nearly as comfortable as his bed.

His alarm clock was still beeping incessantly at him. Derek slowly dragged himself off the floor and stumbled to his alarm clock, shutting it off. Groaning, he stumbled through his tidy room and towards the bathroom he shared with his sister Laura.

Derek disrobed and moved into the shower. He caught sight of himself in the mirror in the process, and sighed.

He was lanky in the worst possible ways: Thin arms and thin legs, with a thin torso. If it weren’t for his height he would have been a complete runt.

At least he didn’t have to shave every day. Stubble was irritating and he considered himself lucky that he didn’t have to shave daily to prevent 5 o’clock shadow.

Derek quickly showered and dressed for his first day as a sophomore at Beacon Hills High School.

Derek wished he were reading a book instead. Books didn’t punch you for being different.

Perhaps it would be better. Maybe he would have a nicer, quieter, more mature set of classmates to interact with.

Perhaps Robert Jordan would rise from the dead, and perhaps Daniel Radcliffe would give him shirtless cuddles in bed.

Derek groaned in disappointment as he walked out the front door and towards his car.

* * *

Derek pulled into the school lot and parked in the section designated for sophomores.

Upon getting out he was greeted by his only friend, or at least the only one who counted as a real friend.

"Hey." Derek muttered to Jackson as he grabbed his things and lead them inside the School Building.

"Hey. Ready for another year of bullshit?" Jackson asked harshly. Jackson had had as much trouble with fitting in as Derek had over the last few years. Of course it was for entirely different reasons:

You see, Derek was a quiet young man with a love for various things that most other teenagers did not love. Things like William Faulkner novels, Akira Kurosawa movies, and Online Role Playing Games.

Jackson meanwhile was a crusader of social issues and what many would call the very definition of a bleeding heart. He rallied around Animal rights, Worker's rights, The Green movement, Women's Rights, Octopuses' rights, and many, many more.

Jackson was socially conscious and in your face. He wanted to know why you weren't helping better society. Why you weren't joining the good fight for the rights of all individuals in our oppressive world!?

Little wonder that most people regarded Jackson as an utter freak. At least Derek had the courtesy to act quiet, which was far less intimidating than Jackson's Freidan-esque zeal.

"I'm ready for another year. I suppose. It will be better."

Derek had never been good with words. Perhaps in his head yes, but not at all when they fell from his mouth like raindrops.

Acidic, unnatural and unhealthy raindrops. Cynical Derek: 1; Logical Derek: 0

The pair strode towards the building, making small talk about their respective summers ("The new Diablo game was awesome!" "I spent my summer in Nova Scotia, protesting those seal clubbing monsters! Won't someone think of the baby seals!") until they reached the front doors.

A tallish (But not that tall) brunette clumsily tripped walking up the last step to the front doors, spilling books and school materials out everywhere. Her hipster boyfriend rolled his eyes at her.

"Allison, Allison. I expect you to be the paradigm of grace. Not a klutzy mess, mon petit Cherie." The hipster affected with a haughty accent.

"Hey, Scott! What's up?" Jackson casually asked

Wait.

Scott?

Since when was Scott a dickhead hipster? The Scott Derek knew was interested in art and the finer things in life yes, but he wasn't expecting this thing in front of him.

The last time he saw Scott, Scott was clean shaven and had long shaggy hair. He was a determined artist with aspirations beyond Beacon Hills.

The Scott before him oozed the kind of smug charm that wouldn't have been out of place in Portland or Williamsburg. And how he was talking to Allison…

At least she hadn't changed. Derek always knew Allison as the shy girl, clumsy girl who meant well but often fell short. She wasn't the brightest academically, and she was prone to making very bad calls in judgment.

Among them was dating Scott, who may not have been a bad guy but was a pretty terrible boyfriend.

"Very little is going on, other than Allison's inability to coordinate her movements. Come now little dove, you've got class to get to." Scott said, chaperoning the Sophomore into the school building.

Okay, so perhaps Scott was a terrible person. Or perhaps being a junior had gone to his head.

But even if Derek tallied up all of Allison's failings (Might take a while… several weeks minimum) he still felt that she was one of the sweetest people he had ever met. When it came to compassion and warmth, Allison was a prodigy.

"Dude come on, let's go inside!" Jackson tapped Derek, who had spaced out again. The two boys shuffled into the building, en route to home room.

* * *

“Repent! Come all ye sinners and repent! Cast down your wicked ways and accept the warm love of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!” came the high pitched, condescending voice of the school’s religious zealot: Erica Reyes.

Derek and Jackson attempted to give Erica a wide berth, but from her position in the main hall she was able to see them clearly.

“REPENT! ATHEISTS! SINNERS! YOU WILL NOT ACCEPT THE JUDGMENT OF GOD, AND YOU WILL BURN FOR IT UNLESS YOU REPENT!” Erica screeched at them.

“Jesus, piss off!” Jackson shouted at Erica.

“Whittemore! My office! NOW!” Came the bellow of Principal Stilinski.

“Asshole.” Jackson murmured under his breath. He turned to Derek. “I’ll catch up with you later man. Gotta go deal with Shithead Stilinski now. What a bigoted ass.” Jackson stormed towards the Principal’s office.

Derek found himself alone, and raced towards home room, where he would not have to deal with Erica’s proselytizing.

As he moved down the hallway he caught a glimpse of this year’s seniors strolling in the building from their special parking lot. He recognized a handful of faces:

Danny Mahealani, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, his sister Laura Hale and of course…

The Iceman himself. Stiles Stilinski.

Some people thought Stiles to be a really stupid name. Anyone with even an ounce of sense knew better than to say such a thing to the face of the Iceman.

Weighing in at 230 lbs. with a height of Six feet, three and a quarter inches, Stiles was about the last person you wanted to mess with.

He wasn’t a friendly giant either: The Star Hockey player was infamous for the fights he got into. He almost always threw the first punch, and he always won. How he never got in trouble amazed Derek.

Oh right, his father was the Principal and Stiles never failed to bring home a trophy for the home team. He could get away with murder if he wished, and Derek honestly felt that that was not entirely impossible.

Fortunately for Derek he had (mercifully) never gotten on the bruiser’s bad side. Although if he wasn’t careful with his looks he just might…

As cruel as Stiles was, he had an excellent body. Firstly, he was built like a house. His height and weight made him big, but the weight was nearly all muscle. Gigantic calves, biceps the size of footballs, broad shoulders, a nice, meat bulge in his jeans.

The Young Man was sex on two legs. Derek attempted to inconspicuously appraise him further.

“You might wanna stop leerin’ at him, boyo.”

Derek nearly jumped. Isaac Lahey had sidled up next to him and was talking in a hushed voice.

Perhaps not so inconspicuous.

Isaac Lahey was many things: British, brash, perceptive, rebellious, and brilliant.

He was also a complete punk, in every sense of the word. The exchange student was both the great anti-hero of the student body and the utter bane of the school’s administration.

Derek didn’t think he was all that special.

“I-uh wasn’t staring.” Derek weakly muttered. Fuck.

“Right. We need to play poker some time boyo. I could win me some serious cash. Say hi to your sister for me.”

Derek nodded and allowed Isaac to slink away. Derek was almost entirely sure he wasn’t even cockney, and it was all a sham to get him buried in nubile American girls.

If that was the case, then it was working _swimmingly_.

As Derek resumed watching the seniors he spotted the school’s other Star Athlete walk by as well:

Clad in her “Beacon Hills High” Track Suit, Lydia Martin moved with purpose through the hallway. She had never cast more than a sideways glance at Derek, but he knew she was actually decent friends with his sister…

…Which seemed impossible. While Derek dressed in a mature, albeit conservative fashion, his sister looked like a carbon copy of Lisbeth Salander. Jet black liberty spikes adorned her otherwise shaven head. Her clothes were also black, a mixture of leather and cotton, all worn and frayed and cracked.

The metal accents and various piercings helped break up all of the black she wore, but failed in making her look like anything other than a Slayer groupie. Of course, that was exactly what Laura wanted.

The administration despised Laura almost as much as they despised Isaac, but for completely different reasons:

Isaac clashed with the administration on the principles of defying an authoritative body.

Laura clashed with the school because she was everything that the school stood against ideologically. A brash and outspoken feminist with Mensa IQ, Laura regularly trounced her classmates in academic debate and test scores, all while looking like the night shift worker at BP. She was outspoken and unapologetic in her beliefs, and she regularly stood up for students who were pushed around by the administration.

As she walked by Derek she made a point to ruffle his hair and smile at him. One of the many reasons he loved his sister, even if her taste in friends sucked.

Speaking of awful friends…

“Well, well well, if it isn’t little Derek Hale. What has the geeky butt boy been up to this year? Sleeping around behind my _back_?”

Laura was great at fighting off the administration, but her luck with reining in her friends was not nearly as good. By now there were few to no students in the hallways. The first bell had rung and students were dispersing to their home rooms.

Derek clammed up. Striding in his direction was Danny Mahealani. Danny was the second best player on the Hockey team and Stiles’ wingman. He was also a noted lothario and bully.

Danny made it his goal, nay, his _imperative_ to fuck with Derek as much as possible. For no other reason than Derek turning him down.

Derek may have had a soft spot for hot guys, but he wasn’t so much an idiot as to sleep with the biggest hound dog in the school. He didn’t want his heart broken, and he was smarter than to fall in bed with Danny.

Danny didn’t take kindly to being turned down.

Derek didn’t respond to Danny. It was best if he didn’t say anything.

Danny’s reply was to shove him. “Well Hale? I asked you a question!”

Derek kept his cool. He wasn’t going to let Danny goad him into a fight. If he did he would lose.

Danny grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into a nearby row of lockers. “Hale you shit you will answer me! You belong to me, and no one else. And one of these days I’m going to have you!”

Derek didn’t answer, but this time it wasn’t out of defiance.

It was out of fear. The crippling fear of direct action, of response, of retaliation.

Time seemed to stretch on for what seemed like years, with Danny still holding up against the row of lockers behind him.

“BOYS! GET TO CLASS!” Victoria Argent, English Teacher, interrupted the dispute.

Danny let Derek go and began to walk away.

“Don’t get comfortable Hale. You are still on my shit list.”

Derek felt control flooding back into his body. His muscles loosened and he was able to move.

Without so much as a backwards glance he raced towards his homeroom.

Hopefully his teacher wouldn’t be mad at him for being late. He wanted to have everything work out as easily as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mr. Hale, you are late. Take your seat.” Came the voice of Alan Deaton, world’s greatest math teacher.

Derek’s day had progressed this way. In between classes he would be pushed around by number of Hockey players and YoungLife zealots. This lead to Derek being late for every class he had.

Christopher Plata, Victoria Argent, Gerard Silver, Vanessa Morell, Melissa McCall, Adrian Harris, and of course his uncle Peter Hale all noted Derek’s tardiness. His final teacher, the great Alan Deaton was no exception.

First he had Plata for Creative Writing. Plata was a high strung man in his mid-forties. Derek noted how he never seemed to relax, and was often nervously pacing while lecturing them. Derek didn’t exactly expect to have a normal teacher for Creative Writing, but he wasn’t expecting said teacher to nervously pace around the room while talking about the merits of Japanese poetry.

Victoria Argent hosted his second period class. Mrs. Argent was one of Derek’s favorite teachers, precisely because she was both caring and ferocious at the same time.

Case in point, when Derek walked into English, he was greeted by a sneering Danny. On his way back to his seat he was tripped by one of the seemingly countless Hockey Players, Derek thought his name was Blueberg or something along those lines.

As the ground rushed up to give his face a generous hug, Derek was able to use his hands to cushion the blow.

This had not been Derek’s first experience with floor-face hugs.

Fortunately Mrs. Argent had seen what had transpired. “Mr. Greenberg, go straight to the Principal’s office.” Argent stated.

Greenberg shot back at the teacher. “Not my fault that Hale can’t coordinate worth shit.”

Argent sighed. “It is if you put your leg out and trip him. Also, watch your language or I’ll have you cleaning bathrooms for the rest of the semester. Fitting, isn’t it?”

“Huh? Wait, you can’t do that!” Greenberg stuttered back, the joke flying right over his head.

“I’m sorry, you were leaving were you not?” Argent asked, but Derek thought it sounded suspiciously like a statement. Greenberg whimpered and grabbed his backpack, leaving the classroom.

“Are you fine Derek?” Argent asked, her eyes flashing from hawkish to motherly.

Derek had already brushed himself off and had moved towards his seat during Greenberg’s beatdown. “Yeah, I’m good.” Derek replied.

“Good. Now turn to page 232.” She playfully smirked at the sophomore, who got straight to his selected readings.

* * *

 

Derek’s next class was with the old curmudgeon Mr. Silver.

“Mr. Hale. You are very late for my class.”

Derek looked at the clock. It read 10:35.

Derek looked at his planner. Period 3: **10:34-11:52**

Silver thumbed at Derek to take his seat, which was conveniently directly next to Jackson.

The rest of the class went smoothly, since Derek was a history nut.

Next came AP Chemistry. Since Jackson also had Chem Derek was able to walk with him to class. Derek had learned early that Hallways were like the African Serengeti for oft abused students: If you didn’t travel with a heard you were most likely to be eaten.

Derek wondered lasciviously for a moment if Stiles would ever eat him…

“Dude! You are totally having sex thoughts right now!” Half of the hallway turned to stare at Derek, faces forming perfectly outraged O’s.

Thanks Jackson. Thank you so _very_ much.

“It’s okay buddy. I’m all for sexual liberation.”

Derek walked into AP Chem and found Isaac sitting at his assigned table.

“Hello there boyo. Heard about your unfortunate fall in English. I myself believe that Greenberg is the missing link between primates and mankind.”

The class erupted in laughter, and even Derek was pleased that he was not the punch line of the joke for once.

After Derek took his seat with Isaac and Jackson, he spied Lydia Martin sitting with several of her track teammates, quietly working amongst themselves.

Vanessa Morrell taught AP Chem. She was a serious, no nonsense woman, but easily one of the fairest teachers Derek had interacted with.

The three young men spent the class working diligently while reviewing their respective days. It had been the most enjoyable period Derek had had so far.

Lunch followed, with Derek sitting amongst Jackson, Allison and Scott. Lunch was went along fairly and when it ended Jackson and Scott went off to their own English class. Allison had Theatre next with Derek, and the two walked to class together.

“Are you excited for Theatre Derek?” Allison asked.

“Erm… I guess?” Derek hadn’t originally planned on taking a theatre class, but when his sister Laura stated that the Theatre Department needed Male leads, it didn’t take long for her to find some way to goad Derek into joining.

She promised him that it would look good on his college applications and that he would meet plenty of friends there.

Maybe even some special friends, she added with a wink.

Derek at the time had scoffed at her and said if she wanted help all she had to do was ask. Internally however he was excited at the prospect of meeting some other gay guys.

The Theatre Teacher was Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom. She was a bright, bubbly woman whose actions were wholly… well dramatic.

Unlike Plata, who was a disorganized frenetic artist, Mrs. McCall was completely organized and on top of her curriculum. Despite her frantic workloads and large demands the Theatre teacher deftly pulled off a dozen different tasks without ever getting angry or irritable.

Derek found himself sharing the class with Allison, his sister and Isaac of all people.

“What love, didn’t think I was a thespian?”

“It doesn’t go…”

Laura chirped in, intercepting his train of thought. “Little brother, don’t get too caught up in labels like our beloved Principal Stilinski is. Isaac is an artist.”

Derek’s next period passed by with no difficulties. Of course, Derek expected no problems in his study hall with Academic advisor Adrian Harris, an alleged pothead who was notorious for his “A’s for everyone policy”

* * *

 

Most bizarre though was entering his seventh period and finding himself and Iceman staring at each other.

“What are you looking at Hale?” The hulkish Hockey Player demanded.

Still reeling from the prospect of spending a whole year in the same class with such a bruiser, Derek did the least awkward thing he could think of:

He bowed his head in shame and raced to his desk, tail tucked between legs.

Nope. Not awkward at all. Not one lick. Stiles wasn’t licking him. Wait, what?

The entire class was glaring at him, eyes full of malefic curiosity.

“Derek, are you all right?” Peter asked of him. Peter was always one of his favorite uncles, and he looked forward to this class the most of his roster.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Derek managed to stammer out. The rest of the class regarded him as a complete freak for a few moments longer.

“All right, well welcome to Film Studies. My name is Peter Hale. Yes I am Derek’s uncle, and no I do not give him preferential treatment. I’m not even sure how we are related. Derek is always so… serious about everything.”

The class continued to stare at Derek, which Derek believed was more disturbing than his own antics.

“In any event I would encourage you all to stop staring at my not so not nephew and stare at myself, who is infinitely hotter.”

“Peter!” Derek yelled at the man. The class erupted in laughter, this time it was partially at his expense.

“I’m joking my boy, do calm down! Well not about my own incredible looks, but most definitely about your lack thereof. In any event class, welcome to Film Studies, where we will analyze films and write papers about them. Gigantic papers that will consume your lives and leave you praying for the angel of death.”

The class, so full of mirth moments earlier had been reduced to shocked faces.

“So, how many of you can I expect to have drop?” Peter asked, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. Derek did hear a lot of amusement in his voice however.

Half of the classes’ hands shot up. The other half was comprised of Derek, several other students and most surprisingly Iceman.

“Good. Less papers for me to grade. Now, for those of you who wish to remain, here are your syllabi for the week.”

Derek watched his uncle as he passed out papers, unaware of the looks Stilinski was giving him.

Derek hadn’t been the only one with sex thoughts on the brain that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to review/comment! Expect more of these posted today! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

“How was your first day back Derek?” His mother asked his from across the table.

The Hale family had settled down for dinner that night, enjoying a sumptuous dinner of breaded tilapia and leafy greens and diced redskin potatoes served au gratin.

Not for the first time, Derek was exuberant at his mother’s cooking abilities.

“Erm, it was all right?”

Susan Hale raised an eyebrow at her son. Her husband, Martin, wiped his lips with a napkin before jumping into the fray.

“Not a very confident answer Derek! Now tell me, how did it _really_ go?”

Derek sighed, his lie easily prepared for his inquiring parents. “It was just hectic. AP classes and seeing old friends and Peter being… well Peter was very Peter-y today. Like super Peter-y.”

Susan and Martin seemed satisfied. “My brother has a habit of being Peter-y. It’s just in his nature son. It’s a Hale-lacious thing to deal with, being Peter-y. He claims it is better than being Martin-y, but I think your mother disagrees with him.” Derek ravenously devoured his food, ignoring his father’s prattle. Next to him sat Laura, who was giving Derek a most Cheshire of grins.

 Laura was smirking indulgently to herself, knowing the full truth.

Derek’s first day had been atrocious by all accounts. He was hounded by Erica and her “Christian” punks in the morning, then by that fucker Mahealani in the afternoon. Greenberg had tripped her baby brother in English, and it seemed that Deaton had been merciless in the sheer volume of Maths he left for his students. Laura could vaguely hear her father asking her a question, which she ignored.

Laura paused. ‘Did I just use Maths in a sentence? I need to spend less time with Isaac…’

“Laura? I asked you a question honey!”

Laura snapped to attention and regarded her father, eyes bright with warmth. Laura could tell that he was concerned about her well-being.

“Hrm? What would that be loving father?”

“Are you doing drugs?”

“Psssh. No! Do you think this Mohawk instantly makes me a junkie dad?”

Susan raised an eyebrow at her daughter, ever so headstrong.

Martin’s face shifted from warm to stony. He continued to eat his leafy greens with nary a word. Chomp. Chomp.

Martin swallowed his leafy greens. “Good. But if you did I would clearly expect you to share with the rest of us.”

Laura began to snicker. Derek’s eyes went wide as he let loose a pained, throaty laugh. Susan glared at her husband for snooping to drug related humor at the dinner table. Really, the man had no manners whatsoever.

“Martin, you wouldn’t share them! You have to sell them back to the children! It’s a great way to make money in today’s economy!” Susan was completely serious in her remarks. In her time as a stay at home mom and romance novelist, she found many ways to supplement the family’s income. While drug dealing was not one of them (Thankfully), she did have more than a dozen other lucrative practices.

Martin nodded at his wife. She was always keeping track of the family’s income, which was something he was horrible at. Martin knew how to make money, and he knew how to spend it. When it came to tracking his finances however, Martin was about as useful as Kerosene was to a burn victim.

Susan rapidly moved back to coddling their youngest, who was stuffing his face full of his mother’s cooking.

“So Derek, you’ve had a good year so far. Do you think you’ll meet any new… friends?”

Derek looked at his mother, eyebrow arched high. “Mom, I already have friends. Jackson and Allison and Boyd, who should be getting back from his Spanish Vacation any day now.” _How did they find out? Did Laura tell them? Oh shit oh shit!_

“Oh Derek honey, I know you have friends but I meant… well… special friends.” Her mother smiled sympathetically as if to say _‘I know you are a giant poofter and you don’t need to hide your ultra-gay self from me anymore!’_

Derek’s eyebrows shot up in unison, his eyes grew to the size of milk saucers, and his mouth opened to fish-like proportions.

“Mother! I don’t want to talk about my… personal life… at the dinner table!” She won’t buy that for a second…

“I don’t buy that for a second, Derek Hale! Your father and I have always encouraged healthy and mature discourse…” Susan broke into a fit of giggles. “Discourse. More like Intercourse! Am I right Mr. Hale?” Derek was squirming in his chair, as though he were being held at gunpoint.

“Now Derek, your mother and I are just worried about your sex life. It’s perfectly healthy for a growing young man to get as much release as possible.” His father cheerily sawed into his tilapia, gleefully unaffected by his son’s reddening face.

“DAD!” Derek shouted at his father, completely and utterly embarrassed.

“DEREK!” Martin mockingly shouted back. “No need to be such a stick in the mud. Don’t be a puritan like your mother.” Susan frowned at her libertine husband. “I wasn’t such a puritan last night!”

Both Hale children looked down at their plates in abject horror.

Susan decided to show her son how much she loved him. So, _very_ much.

“Derek honey, your father and I just want to make sure you aren’t lonely. We know High School is a lonely place, and your school isn’t known for its...”

“Civility, equality or mercy?” Laura finished for mother, horror slowly fading as she munched on a piece of arugula.

“Hush Laura. BHHS is nowhere near that bad. It just isn’t a Pride Parade, where young men… can cavort as they do.”

Derek shot his mother a hard look. “Cavort? Really?”

“Do not Sass me Derek Elias Hale! I will not tolerate that tone of yours!” Susan stood her ground in the wake of her insubordinate child. Laura and Derek were willful on their own fronts in their own unique ways.

Laura was always a fighter, and would disobey any command that didn’t mesh with her logic. Susan was eternally grateful that her daughter was such a compassionate and caring being, otherwise she would have grown into a criminal hellion as opposed to the staunch advocate she was today.

Laura radiated comfort and love in every direction. She was warm and bright, flashy and pleasing. Laura was loud; Laura was a burning force of life.

Derek was the cold December Moon to Laura’s hot July Sun. He was quiet and contemplative, cautious and collected. His fury was the kind that he contained internally, allowing ventilation only in the form of withering looks or sullen skulks. He was, Susan decided, the epitome of the cold shoulder when angered.

 “Would you rather me use a more profane adjective, my darling son? Also, more Horse Radish Roumalade?” Susan offered to her son. Derek silently accepted, not thanking her in the process.

Derek’s weakness was gourmet seafood, and while he may have been irked at his mother, he could hardly pass up her cooking. Or her homemade Horse Radish Roumalade. It was truly a killer seafood sauce.

Derek assured himself that he was being the mature one at the table.

The complete paragon of logical thought and maturity.

Laura kicked him from underneath the table.

“Stop being a douche baby brother. You know mom gets fidgety when she thinks about you taking it up the chuck.”

“And she doesn’t get all bothered thinking about you? PS, London called: They want Joe Strummer to stop shagging my sister and come back home to them!” Derek spat back at his sister. If he wanted to be pissy and broody, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

“Oh Laura! You didn’t tell me you were seeing that nice British boy! He’s so polite!” Susan was beaming at the joyous news. Laura’s gaze would have destroyed lesser beings, and it had not left Derek’s face.

Perhaps if she willed hard enough, she could make Derek’s head disintegrate.

Martin nodded enthusiastically. “Splendid! Make sure to use condoms Laura! I’m not quite ready to be grandfather, especially not to some limey’s bastard.” The man chuckled mindlessly at the prospect.

“Come to think of it, maybe I am ready to be a grandfather. The baby would look so cute in a Union Jack onesie!”

“Martin! Do not encourage our daughter! She’s already three piercings away from a cautionary tale!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence mom. I thought you loved my piercings?” Laura said exasperatedly.

“Oh honey I think they’re just darling, but I’m less charmed by the prospect of you growing… quick with child! Even if it is by that debonair young man.” Susan smiled reassuringly.

“No worries in that department mom. You have more to worry from Derek’s love life than mine.” Laura deflected the attention away from her and towards Derek.

Derek spun in her direction, mouthing the words “Heinous bitch” before Susan and Martin turned to him.

“Derek! You told us you didn’t have any boyfriends! Are you turning tricks?”

“Mom!”

“Or are you sleeping with your teachers? Pulling a Dustin Hoffman eh Son?”

“DAD!”

“Martin, do you think our son is the… Pilot or the gunner?”

“MOM!”

“Susie, I doubt our son’s that assertive. Most likely he’s the Caddy of the pair!”

“ENOUGH!” Derek shouted, positively mortified by his parents imagining his non-existent sex life.

“Now Derek, no need to get bossy. Your mother and I-“

“No, mostly just your father.”

Martin chuckled. “All right, mostly just myself and from a closeted perspective, your mother-“

“Hah! Well played Marty! Closeted!” His mother roared with laughter.

“I know right? Anyways, your mother and I completely care about your sex life. We want to know all of the details. If possible you could film it-“

Derek’s face had gone ashen pale. His eyes went blank and his mouth curled into a quivering “O” shape. Without another word he stood up and left the room.

_How is this my life?_

He returned a moment later to take his second helping of Tilapia and glass of milk upstairs with him.

Upon reaching his room he quickly entered and locked the door behind himself.

Martin and Susan were still cackling like Witches when Laura cleared her throat to excuse herself.

“Wait! Laura, before you go you must answer one question for us!”

Laura shrunk, suddenly wishing Derek hadn’t fled the dinner table so quickly.

Martin’s face went from completely jolly to hard and unforgiving. Placing his hands on the table and pulling himself forward, Martin craned his head in the direction of his oldest daughter.

Her father’s flinty eyes looked over her as he began to speak. “Laura, your mother and I need you to be completely honest with us on this. We need you to take our question seriously, no matter how awkward it may be for you. We are deeply concerned about your physical health, and we need you to bear with us. Okay?”

Laura nodded. When her father wanted to be serious he could put a group of Monks to shame with his solemnity. His grave face betrayed no hint of emotion as he spoke.

“Now, is your boyfriend’s python clipped or whole?” As the words left his mouth his face broke into a grin of malefic impishness.

Laura merely set her head down on the table. Eyes still open she watched as Susan and Martin high-fived each other.

Groaning, Laura asked her parents. “How is this my life?”

Both adults merely stared at her until Susan cracked and began to laugh. Martin joined in her chorus of parental torture that Laura had endured for her entire life.

_How is this my life?_

* * *

 

Derek lay on his bed, dreaming about the positively filthy things Stiles Stilinski could do to him.

Unabashedly, unashamedly, absurdly perverted actions carried forth by unadulterated teenage lust.

In the middle of Stilinski mounting him, a loud knock sounded on his door.

‘Oh fuck!’ Derek sat upright, readjusting himself through the fabric of his black jeans.

“Derek, it’s you mother. Would you please turn off the internet pornography and grant me audience?” His mother practically sang from outside his door.

Springing off of his single sized bed and over his shaggy, cream colored carpet Derek raced towards the door, unlocking it for his mother.

“What do you want?” Derek grumbled. He was still sour at his parents antics from dinner and wanted next to nothing to do with them, parental rights be damned.

Susan Hale held out a piece of blackberry cobbler a la mode on a small Dessert plate in one hand while brandishing a mug of steaming black coffee in the other.

“Truce, my baby boy?”

‘Damn, she checks my moves before I even make them.’

“Tuscany Blend?”

“Sunrise Java.”

‘Damnit! Every.Move!”

Derek sighed and motioned for his mother to come in. Susan smirked happily and entered her son’s room. Susan always enjoyed coming into her son’s bedroom to chat.

When she and Martin had been younger they had made promises to give their children their proper artistic spaces. As artists they knew it was detrimental to their well beings to have one’s own space for which to think and formulate. The young Hales decided that the kids should be allowed to decorate their spaces as they saw fit.

Laura was the quintessential sloth: Her walls were always left unpainted and her furnishings were typically Spartan in appearance but luxurious in texture. She slept on a full size bed that was covered in her clothes, which often failed to travel from the laundry basket to their destination in Laura’s dresser.

At least Laura’s dirty clothes were piled in her corner. Small miracles really.

Derek’s room on the other hand, was vastly different.

Derek had chosen a cream colored carpet that was soft and shaggy, imperial blue paint for his walls and dark wooden furniture engraved with leaves and other floral patterns.

The whole room had a very colonial feeling, which obviously came from Susan’s side of the family. Derek kept his room immaculate in every conceivable way, not unlike his mother.

Clean clothes were properly folded and placed in their allotted drawers, dirty clothes were put in a cloth hamper tucked away in the corner of his room.

His desk was always neat and tidy, with nary a paperclip out of place. Derek’s furniture was never dusty, and he made his bed daily, changing the sheets once every two weeks.

Derek’s room also always smelled like cotton, which was a comforting, if not bland smell.

Laura’s room reeked of stale cigarette smoke and feral cats, which became more disturbing when one realized that the Hale family did not own any animals, let alone feral cats. When Susan commented on the foul odors of her daughters room Laura shrugged and said she’d take care of it.

A week later she began burning multiple Patchouli scented incense sticks.

Susan longed for the stench of feral cats and cigarette smoke, which were practically rosehip in comparison.

“Mom, you wanted to talk?”

“I wanted to talk to you, in earnest, about your life at school.”

Unlike her children who had yet to cultivate their multitasking skills, Susan deftly answered her son.

Derek merely sighed, preparing for whatever nightmares his mother planned to unleash upon him.

“I know your father and I had our fun at the dinner table, but now I would really like to talk to you about what you are doing.”

Derek groaned. “Why do you never have these talks with Laura?”

“Derek honey, your sister got these talks as well. The difference is all in attitude really. You see, your sister has a gigantic pair of testicles. Hush now, let me finish. Your sister is a ballsy, take no prisoners kind of girl. While your father and I do our best to keep an eye on her, we know that restricting her from anything is futile and that it is wholly unnecessary to protect her from anything. You remember our trip to Burning Man?”

Derek groaned at the thought. His anarcho-masochist of a father had decided to squander the family’s vacation several years back on a trip to the massive music festival in black rock desert.

Burning Man had been a transcendental experience for Laura. Gone was the couch potato who read books and slacked through school: Laura was transformed into a punk goddess of righteous artistic fury, a Valkyrie of riotous expression and freedom. The event opened Laura’s eyes and tapped into her creative potential, artistically, musically, and even spiritually.

Derek had spent most of the trip casually admiring paintings and getting sand in his eyes.

“What I am trying to say is that your sister is an established figure who knows what she is getting into. You my baby boy have always been far more… sheltered.”

Derek stared at his mother expectantly for several minutes. “Are you saying I should go have sex in the bushes or something?”

“No! God, no.” Derek nodded slowly.

“Public restrooms are much better sweetie, but you’ve misunderstood my meaning. What I mean is that you have never been one to dive headfirst into conflict and emotion. You’ve always been like my father and his father before him…”

“What’s wrong with being like grandpa?”

“Well apart from being stodgy and old fashioned-“

“Hey!”

“Let me finish! You can be stodgy and old fashioned. These aren’t necessarily inherently bad qualities Derek. Your great grandfather made his fortune by being a conservative land baron back east. His son and grandson were taught to be very frugal with all of their possessions, monetary or otherwise.”

“These aren’t bad qualities to have baby boy, but they aren’t ideal for the blood soaked arena that is the public educational system. I know you’ve already survived a year of high school, but now the stakes are raised. This is the year where students emerge from their shells and begin to blossom into adults. And what do they do with their newfound feelings and hormones? They physically, verbally, socially and sexually savage each other in an attempt to express themselves. And you, my youngest child are not ready for that. You are far too mature to deal with your cohorts, who by all means are a bunch of monstrous malcontents!”

Derek stared blankly at his mother. Was she convinced that his class was comprised of marooned British schoolboys? Derek knew that the only way he could get her to leave him alone was by making her believe that she had impressed her point on him. “Mom, I really doubt it will be that bad, but if it will make you feel better I’ll come tell you if anything is wrong.”

“Oh good! I do love you sweetheart, and I hope nothing but excellence from you. Now, enjoy your cobbler and don’t forget to finish your math work.”

“Erm…”

“I know, math isn’t fun, but you’ll fight through it though. Unlike your prodigal but lazy sister, you’ve always been diligent.”

“Erm… thanks mom?”

Did his mom just call him stupid? She was a graduate of the Grandpa Hale school of Backhanded compliments, which didn’t surprise Derek. Still, it hurt that his mother had actually admitted that he was nothing special. Just the team player, or the workhorse.

“You’re welcome sweetheart. Now, I’ve got some drafts to go over, so I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Okay… good night then?”

“Goodnight Derek, and remember your classmates are primitive savages, so make sure to come to us if anything goes wrong!” With a flourish, Susan Hale exited her son’s room, proud that she had fulfilled her obligations to parenting.

Derek followed his nightly routine and prepared for school the following day, thinking less about his mother’s opinions and more about the coming day…


	4. Chapter 4

In class, Derek was unstoppable. Every class was a set of challenges waiting to be completed, every worksheet was a scoreboard for which to top, and every paper an escape from what lay beyond the walls on his class and in the hallways in between.

A full week passed with only minor incidents daily. One day Danny would slam him against a locker, the next he would slip a note with some derisive epithet scrawled on it.

The days that Erica slipped Bible verses in his locker were the days Derek liked best.

The two students had remarkably different styles of attack. If Derek had aspirations to become a Zoologist he could note the differences in styles and execution the two displayed in their harassment of Derek:

Erica was a rampaging Rhinocerous. She would openly challenge Derek in Hallways filled with students and in the cafeteria. She fancied herself an unrepentant Jesus laying down the will of God.

She sounded to everyone else like an utter fruitcake with a mean streak of attention whore mixed in for good measure.

Danny was a different kind of animal. He was stealthy and vicious, but only when Derek was alone. He would wait around corners, stalking Derek until they were alone before pouncing, barraging Derek with a plethora of creative insults and physical cruelties.

Derek tried to brace himself against the attacks, and he weathered them quite well. What he managed to hide on the outside utterly rended him on the inside however, and more often than not he would wake from a nightmare drenched in sweat and reeking of the fear that Danny had gotten to him.

Fortunately he wouldn’t be alone too much longer. Boyd was scheduled to come back from his lengthy European sojourn the following week, and Derek knew they would share multiple classes. With luck they would be shared periods leading to less time Derek spent alone in the hallways.

* * *

 

Monday morning came and Derek was relieved to find Boyd waiting for him at the school’s entrance.

“Morning Derek!” Boyd beamed.

Boyd was one of the few black students at Beacon Hills, but easily one of the more colorful personalities. Boisterous and social, Boyd made friends with students of all grades and from every conceivable walk of life.

He brought students together with the love of music. And rightfully so, for Boyd was a prodigal Musician. His Mother was a Divorce attorney while his father owned Beacon Hills eminent Coffee Shop and hangout, Monk’s Roasters. Boyd’s father fostered a love of Music, Jazz in particular. While Boyd definitely acquired his father’s love of Jazz, he found himself an indiscriminate lover of music.

Classical Piano, K-Pop, House, Trance, Progressive Rock, Salsa, Beijing Opera, Bluegrass, Mainstream Hits, Harlem Rap, Old School Funk, 50’s Swing, 60’s Art Rock, 70’s Stadium Rock, 80’s Synth Pop, 90’s Grunge and even shitty Thrash metal.

Boyd was first chair in Concert Band, Concert Orchestra and was a member of both the school’s standard and show choirs.

Despite talent that would allow him to transcend Beacon Hills and straight to any major label in the country Boyd remained humble and incredibly friendly.

He was also Derek’s closest friend besides Jackson.

It started after a particularly heated conversation regarding black musicians of the Cotton Club era and ended when both conceded that Nina SImone had a greater emotive sound to her voice than Ella Fitzgerald did.

From there it snowballed.

They would meet at Monk’s Roasters and debate music and the greater themes around it.

It also helped that Derek’s family lived practically lived at Monk’s during the whole week.

Susan came during the day to write and enjoy the local talent. Martin came on the weekends to grade papers and chat with Vernon Sr., and Laura came in the evenings to snog Isaac and watch him perform with his Proto-Punk band, the Werewolves of London.

Only Isaac would be able to convince of bunch of California bros to don eyeliner and play punk at a coffee shop. Derek was sure he was sharing a little more than punk music in order for them to come.

Medicinal his ass, Derek still didn’t know how the very green carded Isaac got his hands on the very green grass he plied his “bandmates” with. He even split his stash with Laura.

To make matters worse Laura refused to share.

“Derek?”

“Hmm? Oh sorry Boyd, I was having an internal monologue.”

“Cool, cool. Let’s get to class so I can tell you about Europe, Paris especially was electric man.”

The remaining week was substantially better now that Boyd had arrived. Sheer providence had provided Boyd with a schedule that was identical to Derek in the core fields. The rest were musically related, but Derek shared classes with Jackson during those periods.

Derek should have made a chart to graph the decline in physical harassment Danny had been doing since Boyd was able to accompany him between classes.

“Your papers about Fritz Lang and Ufa are due today. I do hope you have finished them or your grades will suffer. Which while terrifically funny would reflect poorly on my ability to teach the lot of you.”

Peter was dry and caustic with his remaining students, Derek and Stilinski among them.

The class handed in their papers before Peter continued. “Good, I’m glad you all turned them in. Mrs. Argent gossips to me that she does not nearly have the same level of luck.”

Some of Derek’s classmates snickered. Derek however had caught sight of Stiles and the look of curiosity on his face. Derek knew that Peter was coyly referring to Greenberg not focusing on his Critical Analysis of For Whom the Bell Tolls. Derek wagered with Jackson that he was failing English. Considering how easy the bet was, neither put much money on Greenberg’s academic skills.

Derek thought nothing of the incident and continued to go through his day.

* * *

 

The next morning Derek walked into the building only to find himself spectating an utter _beatdown_ of Greenberg by Iceman.

Greenberg was cowering in the space that held his locker. Stiles loomed over him, anger and a hint of frustration very evident on his face.

“If you fail English you will get kicked off of the team, and I do not have the TIME to train a new right wing! I WILL NOT PUT UP WITH THAT SHIT!”

“B-B-Buh Iceman! English is fuc-”

“NO EXCUSES! You.will.not.screw.with.my.TEAM! I don’t care if you spend the next three months living in Argent’s CLASSROOM! YOU SHALL PASS!” Stiles roared back.

Iceman chest was breathing

The Iceman turned to address the gathered students eyes passing over Derek before turning back to Greenberg. “If you don’t shape up and get your shit together, I will make you get your shit together.” Stiles grabbed Greenberg up by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against Derek’s locker.

Iceman leaned in close and whispered something in Greenberg’s ear.

Greenberg looked past Iceman to where Derek stood, before looking back to Iceman and nodding.

“GENIM!” Came a booming voice from down the hallway. The hatchet face of Principal John Stilinski had appeared to reprimand his son.

“Just straightening out the team Dad. Greenberg needed a “motivational” talk. He’s fine, aren’t you Greenberg?”

Greenberg nodded rapidly,

John looked between Stilinski and Greenberg before nodding at his son.

“All right. The rest of you! Get back to class! Greenberg, Clinic, tell the nurse you slipped.”

“But-“ Greenberg countered. Or at least he tried.

John Stilinski’s laser death eyes silenced him however.

“Right. Slipped and fell. You got it sir.”

“Atta boy. THE REST OF YOU, CLASS! NOW!” Stilinski barked.

With that the throng dissipated, leaving Derek alone at his locker, observations and questions swimming about in his brain.

* * *

 

Derek went through English without a single threat or retort from Greenberg or Danny. More surprising was Danny not assaulting him outside of English.

Instead, Iceman was waiting for him.

“Hale. You and I need to talk.”


	5. Chapter 5

Derek was going to die.

He had clearly brought down the ire of the school’s most intimidating figure. He would destroy Derek and Stilinski’s father would create a plausible reason to cover it up. His life was about to officially end, and he was going to die without finishing his goddamn essay for his uncle’s class, a fact he would bring up during his funeral while he read Derek’s eulogy (“My nephew, Derek Hale, was a great kid. But he was a pretty crappy student and failed to get an easy paper to me. He will be missed, and I’m sure he cannot rest knowing his GPA is tarnished. Amen.”)

“Hale!” Stilinski snapped his fingers in front of Derek’s face to garner his attention. It worked.

Derek refocused on a stony faced Stilinski whose face was… wait was that a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth?  
“Why are you smiling?”

The smirk flipped and Stilinski narrowed his eyes at Derek.

“I need to talk to you. I wouldn’t typically say this to a sophomore, but I need your help.”

Derek was expecting Ashton Kutcher to walk up and high five Stilinski.

“Okay… what can I help you with?”

Stilinski turned his head quickly, scanning the hallways for any oncoming students or any others lurking about. For all of his rapt discipline, Principal Stilinski did a pretty terrible job of stopping the lurking in Derek’s hallways.

He could already see Jackson organizing a rally for the rights of students to lurk in Hallways.

Stiliniski turned back to Derek and moved close to him, a move that both terrified and aroused Derek. The man was an animal, built huge and practically oozing masculinity.

“I need your help with a personal issue, but I can’t talk about it here. Give me your number.”

Iceman Stilinski just asked for his goddamn phone number. Derek used every ounce of willpower to not fall over.

“Yeah, here I’ll write it for you-“ Stilinski swatted his hand away. When Derek looked up at him he saw a range of emotions playing out over his face. Sweat was beading around his neck, while his eyes had an uncertain look. Derek read it as fear which didn’t seem likely.

Iceman did not feel fear.

“Just… give me your number.” Stilinski ground out, his voice going from steady to slightly panicked with minor movement.

Derek, newfound courage rising leaned in and whispered his number to Stilinski.

To say the move was brash would be akin to describing the Arctic Circle as “chilly.”

Stilinski recoiled almost immediately after Derek had finished and looked upon Derek as if he were a rat under heel.

For a moment the two merely stared at each other, Derek keeping his stare with surprise dashed with hints of defiance. ‘Why the fuck am I trying to stare down Stilinski?’

Derek broke eye contact first, moving his head to try and dodge the worst of the incoming punch.

It never came.

Derek looked up to see a very bemused Stilinski staring him down. “Know your place Hale. I’ll message you later, and if you breathe a word of this...”

“Lips sealed, honest engine.” Derek stupidly blurted out. ‘Honest Engine? Really Derek?’

Stilinski scoffed and walked off as the bell proceeded to ring.

Derek, dumbfounded by the excessively bizarre turn of events, grabbed his backpack and moved towards his next class.

The prospect of Stilinski wanting to talk to him about a graven issue was exciting, mysterious, even terrifying in his prospects. Derek was nobody, a Wallflower who answered when called upon and put in his effort in the work only his teachers would see. He had only a handful of friends; a veritably mixed cast of set extras and first billed stars.

His only assets were his due diligence to work and his utterly shameful love of geek culture. There was literally no reason for Stilinski to need to talk to him, especially if the help needed caused Iceman anxiety. The man was the shining example of grace under pressure, if grace could be defined as 200 pounds of muscle and drive flying across ice rinks to score goals.

There was nothing Derek could think of that would cause Stilinski to talk to him.

Yet he had seemed so adamant about communicating in private with Derek. What exactly was eating Iceman Stilinski?

* * *

 

“The sexual tension between Bergman and Bogart can be felt throughout the whole movie, up until Bergman’s plane departs for America. The history of the characters creates both Rick Blaine’s conviction to see Ilsa to safety and incentive to sabotage the whole ordeal to keep her for herself.”

Derek saved the paragraph in Microsoft Word before glancing at his phone. It had been four hours and twenty-four, _no twenty-five minutes_ since Derek had given his number to Stiles

Derek continued to type away at his paper. Twenty-seven minutes.

*BZZZZZZZZ*

Derek scrambled to grab his phone, knocking it off his desk and onto the floor.

*bzzzzzzzzzz*

“Hold on, hold on!” Derek muttered, throwing himself onto the floor and grabbing his phone.

“Hello?”

“Derek? Are you alone?”

Derek looked at his phone. ‘Really Iceman?’

“Yes?”

“What do you mean ‘Yes?’ Either you are alone or you aren’t.”

“There is no one in my room, but there are people in my house. Happy?”

“No. I need your help.”

Derek looked at his phone again. ‘ _Really_ , Iceman?’

“All right then, what do you need help with?”

“Not over the phone, we need to meet up.” Derek’s heart skipped a beat.

“Um, okay. Where?”

“The Park, meet me later tonight.”

“Okay Mr. Ambiguous, when tonight?” Derek said, instantly regretting the words that tumbled from his mouth. ‘Stupid mouth, making me sound like an ass.’

Iceman growled (‘REALLY Iceman?!’) on the other end of the line. “Later means later jackass. Just be there after ten.”

“Okay.”

*bee-boop*

Derek looked at his phone, noting that the call had ended. “That douche hung up on me. Really Iceman?” Derek murmured to himself, still not understanding the strange turn of events that had befallen him.

Either the Iceman was in dire need of help, perhaps he was being hunted by the mob, or the KGB (Unlikely). Or maybe he was under surveillance from his creepy, religious zealot father (More likely). Or maybe he wanted to get to know Derek in a more intimate fashion (Keeping dreaming Hale).

* * *

 

I’m going out!” Derek yelled to his parents from the foyer, who were sitting in their living room, playing Settlers of Cataan.

“Bring back a portion of the money you are making hustling!” His father yelled back.

“Try not to die!” His mother also yelled, somewhat more serious than her husband.

“Don’t you want to know where I am going?” Derek yelled.

“Not if it involves you selling your body to strange men!” His father yelled back.

Derek sighed. “I won’t be back until really late, I think. I dunno the exact timing!”

There was a brief pause, wherein Laura took the opportunity to yell down the stairs from her room. “Whore!”

“Laura, don’t belittle your brother, he can’t help it if he is a lustful homosexual!” Martin yelled from the living room.

“Very true dear! Laura, stop being a prude and go make Andrea Dworkin cry!”

“Andrea Dworkin is dead mom! Besides, eww!” Laura shouted back.

“Derek, what time will you be home?” His father yelled back, apparently not paying attention to his son.

“I don’t know?” Derek shot back.

“Well like your mother said, try not to die!”

“All right. Sterling parenting guys.” Derek answered noncommittally. Derek could practically hear the shrugs coming from the other room.

There was another brief pause. “Whore!” Laura yelled back down the stairs.

“It takes one to know one!” Derek yelled back, before realizing that he could leave at any point in time. Without saying a word Derek waited for his sister to reply.

“For your information, Isaac and I are-“

“Copulating like rabbits on ecstasy, yes your father and I know dear.” Susan yelled from the living room.

“MOM!” Laura shouted!

“LAURA!” Susan shouted back.

Derek quietly slipped out the front door, closing it with a soft *click*

* * *

 

The Beacon Hills Park was a sprawling mix of forested preserve and manicured greenery, all nestled roughly thirty minutes from Derek’s house on foot. Fortunately, Derek had his immaculately clean Impala, resulting in an efficient five minute ride.

Derek parked his car in the small lot reserved for park visitors, noting that he was the only car in the lot. Iceman must still be at home, probably laughing his ass off at gullible Derek’s expense.

*BZZZZZZZZZZ*

“Hello?”

“I’m at the gazebo, where are you?”

‘One question answered.’ “Um, I just parked?”

There was a brief pause in the conversation, culminating in a long and audible sigh from Stiles.

“All right, meet me here.”

*Bee-Boop*

Derek shoved his phone back in his pocket before working his way to the Gazebo with purpose. The air was starting to get nippy, in the way that heralded the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. As Derek walked along the pathway towards the clearing he felt a growing sense of anxiety. ‘Is it really a good idea to meet up with a demented meathead alone well past curfew? Your life isn’t a shameless erotica Derek Hale: This isn’t going to end with sexytimes, more like gaybashingtimes mmmkay?’

Derek pushed the thoughts aside. Even if they ended up being true, he would take that risk. Stiles Stilinski had his pathway in life paved for him, and even though his dad had clout even Derek doubted that he could save his son from the law should he break it by committing true physical assault. Stiles, for all of his alpha male posturing, wasn’t stupid enough to throw away full ride sports scholarships and a plethora of other opportunities just to fuck with someone else-

“Hale.”

Derek turned to see Stiles rapidly approaching him.

“We need to talk.” He said in a monotone voice, tinged with anxiety.

“All right. Let’s start with the obvious, like why you dragged me out here to the middle of the park for the most fucked up meeting ever? Are you trying to sell me drugs?!”

The look on Stiles face was priceless, a mixture of confusion and irritation. “No, I didn’t come here to sell you drugs. Really, Derek?”

Déjà vu, well if that wasn’t eerie. Iceman did the same thing Derek did. Maybe that wasn’t their only shared trait.

“Okay then, why did you want to talk to me? Why do you need my help?”

Iceman took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I need your help in the Cinema class. Your uncle is a fucking slave driver.”

And there it was: The scary, horrifying truth. Stiles Stilinski put Derek Hale through a goat rodeo purely because he was embarrassed to ask for help from him. Derek felt that Stiles should go fuck himself.

Instead Derek laughed at him.

“You need my help with my uncle’s class, and you couldn’t have just asked me? What the hell Stiles?!”

Stiles looked a mixture of embarrassed and pissed at Derek. “You haven’t earned the right to call me Stiles.”

“You know, if you hadn’t have turned into goddamned Deep Throat to ask for my help, that would have been the most ridiculous thing I would have heard tonight. But no, not only are you asking me for my help, you are doing it in the shittiest way possible. Unbelievable.” Iceman just looked at him for a moment, anger slowly dissipating from his face. In the space of time between their next words Derek noticed the dark circles under Iceman’s eyes; Derek also noticed the quiver of the man’s lips and the way he looked at him.

“I’m going home now.” Swiftly turned and strode off.

“NO! WAIT!” Stiles all but shouted, voice desperate and hoarse. Derek stopped mid-step and turned to face Stiles. “I’m sorry, I just have trouble…”

“With what exactly?” Derek asked

Stiles looked down, and actually kicked at the grass as if he were a child caught red handed in something he shouldn’t have. “I have trouble… asking for help.”

The two stared at each other before Stiles continued. “Look, I need this class in order to graduate. It should be simple, but your uncle is a ballbuster. I was just hoping…”

“That I could put in a good word for you? Make him go easy on _Beacon Hill’s golden boy_?”

Stiles looked back at the ground, and Derek almost felt guilty for making the goliath look so pitiful. Almost. Then he remembered where he was.

“You are really smart. And you are good at explaining things, so I was hoping you could help me get through the class. I just need to pass it and… Please?” Derek had never seen the big man so… humbled? It was straight out of the Twilight Zone, this submissive behavior of Iceman’s, the same captain of the Beacon Hills Hockey Team.

Stiles looked at Derek with those weary amber eyes, looking for a single word.

“Okay, I’ll help you.” Four simple words, and Stiles face lit up like a Christmas Tree. And what a beautiful, muscled Christmas Tree he was...

“Under a couple of conditions though, I’m not tutoring your ass for free.” Derek added.

Stiles face faded back into the same stony visage it had been earlier. “So long as it’s nothing queer you’ve got a deal.”

Derek nodded. Perhaps things were going to be okay from here on out.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek stumbled to school the following day, cursing Iceman for keeping him up late. The two of them had hammered out a reasonable set of agreements, which stipulated that Derek was to help Iceman ace his cinema class alongside providing all any other help the Iceman needed for school.

Stilinski’s end of the bargain was a bit heavier: The Hockey team was to lay off Derek immediately, Danny was to stop acting like a creepy douche and Stilinski was to tone down his language around Derek. After agreeing to the basic points they set a schedule for study sessions (Not dates as Derek had mistakenly referred to them as- and subsequently spent the next fifteen minutes explaining and apologizing for implying the sessions might resemble in any way) once a day, every day for the next semester, excusing days wherein major games were held or days where neither could give a flying fuck about the state of their academic affairs. These Latter Days were to be determined at a moment’s notice.

After all parties were sufficiently calmed and assured that nothing about these sessions would constitute as “Gay” in the slightest did both agree to the terms. Iceman awkwardly shook Derek’s hand and expected to see him the next day after school at Monk’s Roasters.

* * *

 

Derek walked into school expecting the din of Students hurrying to and fro, racing between lockers and classes.

What he got was a grand duel between two mortal enemies locked in verbal combat, each attempting to outmaneuver each other with climactic effect.

“Tofu is the work of the Devil! Eating the red meat of animals and the white meat of fish is the path of the Godly man, and not the false path of Satan!” Erica wailed, as though her words could cut through the illogic of her opponent.

“How dare you extoll the virtues of Animal slaughter, and in the names of “Godly men” no less! You are  nothing more than a murderous cow!” Jackson whipped back at the zealot, eager to defeat the fundamentalist mouthpiece that stood before him. A crowd of students had surrounded the two of them, and the oral combatants were circling each other, both literally and argumentatively.

As Derek moved to the outer edge of the crowd he spied his sister and Isaac selling pop tarts for $2.50 a package. Derek shook his head, his feelings torn between amusement and mortification.

“Cookies and Cream Tarts! $2.50 a pop! Cheaper than a real Tart, but not by much! Get ‘em while the game is still on!” Isaac shouted, moving through the crowd, dispensing food and taking money with chaotic abandon. While Derek pondered whether it was a “punk” move to establish yourself as a tool to a corporation as despotic as General Mills, he was more afflicted by the sinister thought creeping through the back of his mind:

His mom had bought several boxes of Cookies and Cream Pop Tarts a few days ago at the store, knowing them to be Derek’s go to (if not exactly healthy) mad-dash breakfast…

Derek stormed over to where his sister was fending off several students doing their best to haggle down the price of _Pop Tarts_. “Laura Hale! Are you pawning off my breakfast staples for quick cash? What the _hell_ older sister?!”

Laura rolled her eyes at Derek’s Indignation. “Shouldn’t you be watching the show? God knows how long it will keep going before Principal Stilinski shows up to get everyone to go to class.”

“VEGETARIAN LIFESTYLES ARE DAMNATION, AND ONLY THROUGH THE SALIVATING SALVATION OF MEAT CAN YOU BE SAVED JACKSON WHITTEMORE!” Erica screeched through the entry hall.

“Raising and slaughtering animals for a Big Mac or Popcorn shrimp hardly seems to be godly Miss Reyes. Open your eyes and see that only through loving and caring for our fellow animals can we make this world a more peaceful place.” Jackson, unflinching at Erica’s delivery, stood fast and strong for the superiority of the Vegetarianism.

For once, Derek agreed with Erica. A rare Porterhouse smothered in Horseradish was about as close to touching the face of God as one could get.

“You are your sodomite should know the merits of Meat, yet you decline them all the same!”

‘Damn it Erica, this is why we can’t have nice things.’

“ALL RIGHT YOU KIDS! GO TO CLASS ALREADY!” came the gruff tones of Gerard Silver. The effect was instantaneous as the majority of the students shuffled off to class, most munching on what would have been Derek’s breakfast for the coming weeks.

Erica and Jackson eyed each other dismissively, backing away to their respective classes and never once breaking eye contact.

* * *

 

The rest of Derek’s day went swimmingly: The hockey team stayed off of his back, he finished his paper on Casablanca in study hall and turned it in to his Uncle that afternoon, and left said class to head over to Monk’s Roasters. Iceman hadn’t made eye contact with him in class, which made sense given their agreement. Derek was to not speak to Stilinski when school was in session, and all inquiries were to be made via text message.

Derek was social asbestos, a gay nerd who couldn’t act social, even if the stakes were something as dire as a truckload of kittens facing incineration. It was little wonder that Stilinski wanted to risk the ramifications of being caught interacting with Derek in class.

Derek sighed and pulled into a parking space in the small paved lot adjacent to the coffeehouse. Even if it would have made his life easier, Derek wouldn’t have given up his habits, his loves for anything in the world. If people didn’t think that Tabletops and RPG’s were cool; that foreign movies and old books written by long dead Irishmen were odd, then perhaps the world was in need of changing and not the seventeen year old geek it had seen fit to punish instead.

Stepping inside, Derek wondered if perhaps his wishful thinking colored his perception all together.

Seated at the corner booth in the back of the café was Iceman Stilinski, hunched over a stack of papers and with a tall coffee cup next to him. Derek moved in line and ordered a cup of the Ethiopian roast from Mr. Boyd.

The two exchanged greetings and got on with their school work.

About twenty minutes in Derek had finished his cup and moved to get another. “I need to get a refill, what did you have?”

Derek stopped and looked at Iceman. “Erm, the Ethiopian blend?”

“Anything else with that?” Stilinski asked taking Derek’s mug from him.

“Erm, I take it black.”

“No creamer or sugar at all? What are you, eighty?” Stiles asked, somewhat shocked.

“Did the definition of black change?” Regretting the words as they shot from his mouth, Derek figured that of course his social inability would rev up while in front of the hottest and most intimidating guy he knew.

Stilinski merely raised an eyebrow and shook his head, going to refill their drinks. The rest of the session carried on without much fuss, culminating in Iceman successfully dissecting several scenes from On The Waterfront.

* * *

 

The next time Derek walked into Monk’s Roasters, he eyed a mug of steaming coffee sitting idly at his place. When Derek moved to pay Stilinski he waved his hand and grunted.

“You’re helping me not fail a ridiculous class taught by your insane uncle. A cup of coffee is notihng.”

“All right Iceman.”

Iceman rolled his eyes. “Derek, you can call me Stiles.”

Wishful thinking: 1; Pessimism: 0


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys are going to like this one :P

“Derek, what exactly do you do outside of schoolwork?”

The question hit Derek like one of Laura’s notorious-now-banned-phonebook-shotputs.

He and Stiles (How Derek _relished_ saying that name out loud) had been going over the merits of French films (Derek loved them; Stiles thought they would make nice kindling) when Stiles had gotten bored and needlessly begun to pry into Derek’s life.

Any other person asking these questions would have been given Derek's perfectly rehearsed stock answers: His father was intelligent but eccentric; His mother loving but also eccentric; His sister was not a Satanist. Onwards the questions would march towards Beacon Hills very own Family Fang: No, His parents did not endorse drug usage (Lie); No his parents did not beat him; Yes, living in the middle of the woods was a hassle sometimes.

The list went on and on, with every question neatly thought out to prevent people from thinking his family was as demented and unhinged as he believed them to be. Instead they were viewed as the token artists of Beacon Hills, the crazy folk who lived in the deep woods and added _Character_ to Beacon Hills.

So long as they rarely came down from the woods and interacted with the other godly folk of Beacon Hills, they were tolerated.

“Derek, I didn’t ask you to have a frigging flashback to your obviously not tortured childhood. Answer the stupid question.” Stiles grumbled.

Derek pulled the first thing that came to mind forward: “I play tabletop RPG’s.”

_Three…_

“Tabletop what?”

_Two…_

“RPG’s, Role Playing…”

_One…_

“You mean like Dungeon’s and Dragons and shit?”

“Uh in the same vein. I don’t play a lot of DnD anymore, but I love the Star Wars RPG stuff.”

‘Nailed it, he can’t possibly think I’m a freak.’

Stiles gave him a look that spoke volumes about how he felt about RPG’s. “O-Kay, well anything else you like to do Gygax?”

“I read a lot… I like to watch movies. I hike around the woods a lot, it’s peaceful and quiet.”

Stiles continued to stare at him.

“Derek, you your parents-“

“No! My parents do not beat me!”

“Okay, okay chill out you spazz. You just seem so damn quiet about this stuff, and I don't even get why. Your parents are dope.”

‘Dope? I guess you can tame a tiger to be nicer but you can’t change its stripes.’

“My parents aren't really all that cool Stiles.”

“Derek, your dad is a prize winning botanist whose dissertations on Hemp effectively make him the spiritual successor to Jack Herrer, and your mom writes erotica. Pretty Badass.”

Derek just stared at Stiles, both wondering how the hell he had come to those conclusions and how he knew so much about his parents to begin with.

“Erm, Well my dad’s work really focuses less on Marijuana and more on reversing toxicity in otherwise unedible plants, part of which revolved around a discussion about how Cannabis wasn't all that toxic to begin with, compared to Nightshade or . My mom writes Romance novels. It’s really not all that cool dude… wait did you just call me Gary Gygax?!”

Stiles _rolled his friggin’ eyes_ at Derek. “Nice catch there. What was that, like three minutes ago?”

“Shut up! I never claimed to be a genius!”

“Too late for that Einstein.” Stiles smirked, but Derek knew that look when he saw it.

‘What just happened here? That wasn’t the calm, masculine Stiles he had been seeing. There was a hunger in that look, vulnerability even.’

As quick as Stiles smirk appeared, it vanished hiding beneath his normal cover of indifference.

“All right, you need to be introduced to some good French movies, as opposed to that crap you think constitutes French Cinema.”

“French Cinema is g- lame. Too artsy and pretentious.”

“Are we talking classics or modern?” Derek didn’t miss the tic in Stiles voice, but he ignored Stile’s casual remark nonetheless. No need to ruin the mood with advocacy.

“All of it.” Stiles retorted, downing the last of his coffee in one gulp, and stoically trying to hide the burn it left on his throat.

“Not the good stuff. I think it’s time for some Renoir.”

Stiles groaned. “I don’t need any more homework Derek.”

Derek saw complaining, but he heard an invitation. ‘Fortune favors the bold then, eh Fate?’

“We could watch it together…”

Stiles looked up from his coffee, and it was the panicked straight-man-in-a-gay-bar kind of look Derek had seen before.

“Or whatever, it doesn’t really matt-“

“That would be helpful.”

Derek stopped covering for himself. “Really?”

“Well… yeah. When I watch the movies alone I spend all of the time focusing on the subtitles as opposed to the facial reactions and whatnot. I miss a lot I could be using later for my analysis. So… yeah watching it with you, the master of explaining this complicated shit would be beneficial.”

“O-Kay… Well when are you free for this?”

Stiles paused as though reeling through his mental calendar. “Tonight works fine.”

“All righty then… well I guess come by my house around 6ish?”

“Sounds good man. I’ll see you then?”

“All right… oh and my parents are insane with guests so… yeah just don’t let them razz you out okay? They like to have fun but they cross lines like you can’t believe.”

“Derek, I’m sure your parents are fine.”

“No Stiles, I’m not even kidding you they will be crazy like you can’t believe.”

“Derek.”

“Stiles.”

The two stared each other down for what seemed like… five seconds, maybe six. About a month ago Derek wouldn’t have imagined himself being able to stare down Iceman Stilinski, but he was able to do it with little problem now that he had been spending quite a bit of time with Stiles.

“All right, I’ll chill out around your parents. I promise to not lose my shit.”

“When they start making very uncomfortable jokes around you, you will find yourself tempted to break that promise.”

“I’m pretty thick skinned, all over even.” Stiles winked at Derek, grabbing his stuff and heading out.

“See you around 6, Moon Moon!"

Derek had to pull himself out of the revelation that Stiles Stilinski might be interested in him sexually to realize he had just called him among the grandest of insults. Also, since when did Stiles read meme aggregates?

* * *

 

“So Stiles, how many of your teammates have you banged in the locker room showers?” Susan asked sweetly over a salad of bleu cheese, almonds, kale, and fennel.

Stiles’ eyes widened almost comically, while Laura choked down a laugh. Derek sat there, utterly mortified.

“In the showers? None. Against the lockers however…”

Susan let loose a howl as Martin broke a smile. Derek turned to look at Stiles, absolutely aghast. Stiles _didn’t do_ Gay jokes.

“I’d have a big talk with you about my son’s honor, but seeing as how he’s a couple cents away from being a cheap trick you can bet you won’t be receiving _that_ lecture.”

Everyone at the table laughed at the expense of Derek, who was having a hard enough time not having a full blown panic attack. Seriously, any trained nurse would have rushed him into the ICU and ordered some serious tranquillizers to diminish his leporine heartbeat.

Laura passed the plate bearing savory smoked ribs to Derek, who took several with his hands. Stiles was on his third serving of the succulent pork.

“This is so fucking delicious Mrs. Hale. If I wasn’t afraid of your husband, I might just have to thank you in not so polite ways for this sinfully delicious dinner.”

Susan waved her hand over the table while Martin attacked his ribs with gusto. When Derek had told his parents that Stiles would be coming over for dinner, they whipped themselves into a frenzy, getting out the fine china and cleaning the house as though the President were coming to dinner. Susan had already marinated the ribs the day prior, but now she was putting extra effort into the rest of dinner: a aforementioned salad, naan served with lime hummus, spicy black beans and freshly brewed sweet tea infused with lychee fruit and lemon zest.

Asiatic twists on southern comfort food were about the only respites Derek was having over this dinner.

Laura in particular was angling to get some low blows in at her brother, but she was equally interested in the gossip surrounding Lydia Martin, Greenberg and Danny Mahealameass.

“Danny is constantly harassing Derek, to the point of stupidity. He’s just angry Derek shut him down last summer.”

Derek turned an atomic stare on his loud mouthed sister, who was now jeopardizing his relationship with Stiles.

Stiles sipped at his tea, arching an eyebrow at Laura before turning to Derek. “Is that true Derek? Did Danny come onto you?”

Derek snorted. “If you mean ask me in the sleaziest way possible if I wanted the D, then yes.”

“Yeah that sounds like Danny. And he’s been harassing you since? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well he’s vaguely backed off since we brokered our agreement, but he’s doing that creepy stalker thing where he peers at me from around corners. Who does that, right?”

Stiles was not amused.

“I’ll make sure to have a word with him at school.” A light went off in the back of Derek’s head.

Martin Hale’s jovial tone had shifted in the concerned gear. “Derek son, you didn’t tell me you were having problems at school. _Real_ problems, not teenage-angst-fest problems.”

Derek quickly moved into Bomb Diffusion mode: “Dad, it’s really not that bad. Danny’s a whore, not a Rainbow Warrior. And if he tries anything stupid I’ll kick his ass.”

Laura snorted “Yes, all 120 or so pounds of you will take on the Mahea-hurricane with little issue.”

Derek blinked at his sister. “Did you seriously just call Danny Mahea-Hurricane?”

“Yeah, problem?”

“No, but it sounds stupid as all fuck. You can do better than that big sister.”

“I’m too tired to think of what else to call Danny Douchebag. And full of poke.” Laura finished, rubbing her belly contentedly.

“Eating for two Laura? I do so want a grandchild. Especially if I get to buy him onesies labled ‘Gramma’s Favorite Little Bastard.’” Susan needled at her daughter. Laura’s face reddened but she said nothing.

Stiles fought back a spit take with enough effort to make Derek nearly keel over.

“At least with Derek and Stiles I don’t have to expect any bastard grandchildren.”

Derek froze, eyes immediately darting over towards Stiles. Stiles was sitting quietly, eyebrow quirked at Susan. “And what makes you say that Derek and I are a couple?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t the answer Derek was expecting.

Susan leaned back in her chair, grinning like the Cheshire cat all the while. “It would be awfully presumptuous to state that my son and you are involved in a tawdry homosexual affair. You may just be platonic lovers, what is the word the kids these days are using Martin?”

“Bromates? Bromosexuals? Brovers?” Martin threw out while greedily sucking the flesh off of his ribs.

“That last one sounds just a tad too incestuous. Right, well whatever you two want to call it, it’s nice to see Derek make some more friends. Boyd is oftentimes too busy to hang out with Derek, and Jackson can’t devote all of his time to being around Derek. Hell, I’m his mother and I can’t even do that. Point is, I’m glad you are making friends with my son, even if he can be insufferable at times.”

Stiles had this oddly content look on his face, something Derek couldn’t quite figure out. Was he happy about being Derek’s friend? Was he at ease with being around Derek’s crazy family? Was he just putting up a façade to hide his frustration at his mother? Why was Laura kicking him? OW!

Derek turned to see Laura kicking him from under the table. There was only one suitable course of action now:

Derek kicked back, about five times harder. His converse must have hurt.

Laura looked at him, as though appraising an ant that had bitten her in the leg. She raised her metal buckled combat boots back and leveled a kick at Derek’s shins.

“Yipe!” Derek grasped his shins causing Martin and Stiles to look over.

Derek side-eyed Stiles, pointing at Laura. “She kicked me!”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Derek, man up and stop acting like a pussy.”

Laura chortled, before Susan gave her a look. “If you start a war Germany, be prepared to finish it. Your father and I won’t come to your aid when Derek changes your shampoo with Horseradish sauce.”

“Isaac thought it was nice.”

“Isaac is just happy you have _teeth_.”

“Naw, he aint’ bovvered.” Laura flashed him a smile.

Stiles checked his phone, shaking his head slowly at the Hale siblings. “Derek, we had better get started on this ‘awesome’ French movie of yours, or I’m going to be hurting at practice tomorrow. Lack of sleep and conditioning is a bitch.”

“So much for you being a paragon of masculinity. What, can’t pull an all-nighter and do some workout excercises?”

“All right smartass, how about you stay up until four am, get an hour’s worth of sleep, then go run four miles.”

“Point taken. You win this time Stilinski.”

“I always win.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply when he caught the rest of his family staring at him with expressions that were half amusement and half surprise.

“Hey, Derek, you go watch your movie. I’ll get the table.” Laura stood up and began clearing plates.

“And I’ll get the dishes.” Martin said, leveling a look at Stiles.

“And I’ll make sure your father actually loads the dishwasher right.” Susan finished, standing up and kissing him on the head. “You two go enjoy your night.”

“Erm, all right then? We’ll just be upstairs, watching The Rules of the Game.”

The three of them nodded slowly and moved to do their respective chores, faces impassive.

* * *

 

Derek led Stiles upstairs to where the guest room would have been, if his parents were conventional and boring.

In place of furnishing the guest room as a guest room, the Hales had decided to make a lounge room, complete with sectional seating and a widescreen television. Susan protested having a television in the living room, instead opting for a menagerie of couches and cushions.

Martin and Derek fought adamantly that they needed a television. Martin for his stories on HBO, and Derek for watching his collection of films, and in their alliance Susan relented to allowing the purchase of a television.

Derek scanned the alphabetized case holding his films, flipping to the L section for the DVD.

“Didn’t you say the name of the movie was ‘The Rules of the Game’?” Stiles asked, already languidly stretched out over the sectional.

Derek snorted. “The original French starts with ‘La’, and I try and keep the titles in their mother tongue. Unless it’s something in a foreign alphabet.”

“That’s… pretty hipster of you Derek. Wait, do you organize the movies that start with ‘The’ in the ‘T’ section?”

“Erm, no? That would make my ‘T’ section massive!”

“All right, then why did you put La regle du Jeu in the ‘L’ section?”

Derek rolled his eyes. He didn’t expect Stiles to understand-

Wait. _Wait._

Derek wheeled on Stiles. “I see what you did there. I’m not filing it under T simply because La translates to The in English. That would just be… incorrect.”

“OCD much Der? Anyways, just start the movie.”

Derek scoffed and turned, if only to hide the spreading blush on his cheeks. Derek popped the movie into the player and moved to sit to the far left of the sectional.

As he flipped past the Criterion logo and onto the main menu, Derek started the film and settled into the couch, allowing Renoir’s take on upper class excess and the absurdity of love play on, all to slapstick chase scenes and fantastic physical acting.

Then he fell asleep.

* * *

 

It may have been the school work, or the pork induced torpor. Maybe what Stiles Stilinski had said, the night of half flirtations and completely at ease behavior.

It may have even been the niggling feeling at the back of Derek’s mind that told him to look deeper.

Regardless of what caused him to pass out, he couldn’t recall how he ended up crushed against Stiles side, head pressed into the burly Hockey player’s crook.

The realization hit Derek almost immediately, causing him to tense up.

“Don’t. Just don’t even move.” Stiles whispered, as Octave conducted his phantom orchestra onscreen.

Operating on pure instinct, Derek followed the commands.

Derek then realized that Stiles left arm was draped around his back, with his hand resting on Derek’s hip.

“Erm… I’m Sor-“

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

‘Huh… well that took an interesting turn.’

“All right then. I’m just going to stop talking, like right now.”

Stiles chest rumbled. “Good.”

The two of them remained like that for a long while, waiting until well after the movie had ended. Derek had pictured a moment akin to this, but where he had imagined the anxiety of being with the object of his affections, instead he found contentment and peace. Stiles seemed more relaxed than he had seen him in all of their times working together.

The credit finished and the film returned to the main screen, Derek moved to get up only to find Stiles grip on him tightening.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Stiles asked, playfully to the surprise of Derek’s ears. (2oo pounds of muscle and scowls rarely did _playful_ )

“Stiles… what… I… this… is… I… Erm… You…?”

Stiles looked down at Derek. “No labels, no footnotes or definitions. Just this moment, it’s you and I.”

Derek looked up into wheat colored eyes and milk white skin, angular cheekbones and close cropped Fallow hair. They looked back into his own eyes, jade flecked with hints of gold and russet, summer colors.

Stiles regarded him, scanning over inch of his face: The short charcoal hair, the pointed nose, the wicked mouth, so unassuming until it lit up with a smile or frown. Stiles wanted to devour that mouth.

So he did.

* * *

 

It wasn’t a gentle kiss from the verses of a song or the pages of a book. Nor was it rough and conquering, the goal was not to dominate.

It felt more like consumption.

Derek would later think back to this moment, analyze it fervently to find meaning and context for its delivery and purpose, but at that moment in time there were only hot, smooth lips pressed against his own. There was only the feeling of a callous hand running its fingers through his hair, the hardened muscles pressed against his body. Curves and well defined bulk separated from his fingers by thin cloth.

Derek focused on the kiss, shyly testing Stiles’ mouth with his tongue. His initiation was met with a brutal response, all tongue, all force, all groans from Stiles. Stiles ran his hands along the sides of Derek’s slim body, eliciting shudders from the younger man.

Derek eventually broke the kiss to look into the eyes of Stiles Stilinski.

Eyes shining with lust, Stiles cupped Derek face and pressed their foreheads together.

“Hey.” Derek said meekly

“Hey yourself.” Stiles replied back hoarsely, all in jest.

“I never knew, I mean I hoped and thought and…”

“Well you never were very good at hiding your leering.”

Derek had the modesty to blush.

“Fuck, you’ve gotta stop doing that or I’m going to get really wild on you.” Stiles growled into Derek’s ear, hot breath and contact making Derek rock hard.

“I can’t help it…” Derek offered meekly, mind too completely out of it.

“Well I don’t know how thrilled your folks would be if I deflowered you on this couch…” Stiles murmured.

“No clue, don’t care.” Derek groaned out as Stiles ran his tongue along the edge of his ear, working down the lobe and across Derek’s tragus.

Derek went rigid and grabbed Stiles shoulders, pushing him back against the sectional and straddling him. Stiles let out a low groan, grabbed the back of Derek’s head and pulled him in for a kiss that would have been banned from daytime television.

Not that Derek minded one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you so :P


	8. Chapter 8

“Derek? Deeeeeerek? Earth to Derek Hale, Lord of aloofness and heir to the Kingdom of vacant space starings, are you with us?”

Peter’s voice snaps Derek straight out of his trance, his eyes refocusing on his bemused uncle and his snickering classmates.

“Yes Mr. Hale? Did you want something from me?” Derek asked, equal parts diligence and sass.

His uncle made a _Broadway Show_ out of his apathy towards Derek’s attitude. “Yes, I’m not a big fan of nepotism, unlike some people in this building, so if you would kindly focus on our discussion and stop ruminating over your _grand_ and _mysterious_ insights…” Peter stops, picks up a coffee cup from his desk and proceeds to furrow his brow. “That’d be great.”

The entire class laughs. Even the stony faced Iceman chuckles.

Derek doesn’t, but not because his uncle isn’t gab, isn’t deft with comedy even.

He’s not laughing with his classmates because his passing flight of fancy hasn’t shown any indication of reciprocation.

Even when Stiles- _Iceman_ catches the look on his face. Even when he _knows_ what Derek’s mind has wrapped around he still doesn’t give away his feelings.

‘The show must go on then.’

Derek sinks in his seat, adjusts his glasses and stares back at his determined uncle.

“Just dozing off into space Mr. Hale.”

Peter gives him a disappointed frown, as though he was expecting Derek to actually reveal the madness on his mind right there in the middle of class.

“Very well, now if you all will turn to page 394 of your History of Film textbook…”

* * *

 

The next day Derek has a substitute teacher in Math.

“Hello students! My name is Jennifer Blake and my responsibility towards all of you outweighs my fragile psychoses. Psychoses, children, is the plural of Psychosis.” Jennifer takes a step away from the whiteboard and strikes a pose. “The more you know!” She excitedly squeals while making enthusiastic jazz hands.

The class shifts uncomfortably, logically unsettled by the antics of their substitute. She strikes Derek as the kind of substitute who actually gives homework out as opposed to following a lesson plan of _fuck-this-I don’t-make-enough-to-care!_

“Just be aware that my twin sister Julia Baccari is a raging whoremangler who is on the run from the law for breaking into zoos and painting Celtic symbols onto wolves with silly string because _damn them those lupine fiends_.” Jennifer breathes with a fury that could almost win an academy award.

“Now, please turn to page 44 of your textbook an copy down the problems on differential calculus.”

Oh yeah, definitely of the _look-at-my-lack-of-fucks-you-silly-students!_ variety of substitute teacher.

Derek turns his focus away from the utter dingbat teaching the class and towards his math work. He gets done copying the first problem when he hears Danny whisper “Fucking faggot Hale, look at his neck.”

The grip on his pen tightens as he looks at the problem:

Y1=x-2

“I hear he was giving out blowjobs for cash.”

Derek begins to differentiate the problem.

Y=D{4+3-3}

“A real cocksucker that one, he really likes to go at it.”

\+ D{x-2} (4+3-3)

“He can’t help it, his whole family is fucked up, living in the woods and growing drugs. His mother is a dominatrix and his sister is a crack whore. Class act that bunch.”

Y=D{x-2} + {4+3-3}

“We should just kick his ass, that way everyone would have a good time.”

Y=fag-

Derek stops writing and looks up at Danny, who is staring at him intently, as though he is waiting for him to make the first move.

“Is there something you want to say to me Danny?”

Several heads pop up, while other conversations go quiet. Ms. Blake is prattling on up front about the evil of wild wolves and Danny just smirks at him with this knowing look that he could say anything and get away with it.

And Derek realizes that unless he does something this will be his life for the next year, an endless barrage of negative behavior and insults from cro-magnons like Mahealani and Greenberg and Reyes.

So Derek does something about it all right. He does something about it by playing dirty.

He leans forward on his desk and just smiles back at Danny. “Hey gorgeous. You’ve been on my mind all day long.”

Danny scoffs, shrugging him off with a casual dismissal. _Fag_.

“I told you he was into me, the little slut. Enjoy those hickeys queer?”

Derek nods enthusiastically and doesn’t that just catch Danny off guard. “I did. I loved it when you put your mouth on my neck and bit down. It was…” Derek shudders for effect “Amazing.”

Danny’s not smiling anymore and his friends look repulsed. “What are you talking about? I didn’t give you monkeybites you stupid queer.”

Derek smiles softer. “It’s okay, I know the others can’t know, but we can keep meeting in secret. Just like you asked.” Derek puts on a convincing stage smile and nods vigorously.

_‘Selling something is all about presentation and dedication. You have to put 100% into your efforts and act as though nothing besides the sale exists…’_

Danny’s body language is dismissive but Derek doesn’t miss the look in his eyes: It is uncertainty and it is fear. And it is rightly earned fear, for his friends have stopped bad mouthing Derek. But they aren’t talking to Danny either. Danny, whose reputation for getting tail and behavior is making them start to analyze his behavior with scrutiny.

“Whatever Hale, you are so full of shit.” Danny replies trying to retrieve the ball, but it’s all over. The wind has shifted direction and Danny’s insults aren’t looking scandalous: They’re looking like he’s trying to shut Derek up. As though Derek’s silence is worth its weight in goldto Danny.

_‘If you want to sell something, you have to learn how to act properly. You can’t make a sale without slipping into the specific role the sale calls for. Acting outside of this role will result in the whole charade becoming visible.’_

Derek goes back to erasing his errors and working back on his work, thrilled that Danny has shut his fucking mouth and that he can focus again.

“Dude, did you really have sex with Hale?!” Greenberg hush whispers at Danny.

“Are you kidding me? Of course I didn’t have sex with him.”

“But, did you do anything with him?”

“Are you for real Greenberg? Making out with Derek Hale?!”

“Yeah sorry dude, Just saying. He was all serious and shit. He’s so fucking creepy.”

“He probably had to whore himself out to an old man to get those marks.” Danny snarled, clearly wanting to drop the subject all together.

‘Hah. In your fucking _dreams_ Mahea-douchebag.’ Derek thinks contently to himself, remembering his time spent with Stiles the other night. While the two haven’t spoken since, Derek accepts what happened and enjoyed the brief if awesome time he spent making out with Stiles.

* * *

 

The bell rings and Derek grabs his things so he can get the hell out of dodge. He notices Danny fuming at him and thinks it will be a really, really good time to get out of the building.

Just as he exits the classroom he sees Erica departing her free period class.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Derek murmurs to himself, and apparently several hertz too loud.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY HELLBOUND HALE?!” Erica shouts in fury, dropping her books and marching over to Derek’s place in the hall.

“Look Erica I don’t have time to talk.”

“You’re goddamn right you don’t have time, you’re fucking _out_ of time.” Comes a growl from behind him.

He’s being whirled around to face a livid Danny, who grabs him by his collar and slams him against the locker.

“Here, let me give you some lovemarks to remember _sweetheart_.” Danny grunts as he cocks his fist back and punches Derek in the stomach. Derek recoils in pain, his vision blurring momentarily as Danny punches him again, fist connecting with his side.

“Urrghhh” Derek grunts out as he squirms away from Danny’s blows. A crowd has gathered in the hall to watch the spectacle, with Erica watching in glee.

‘Good Christian my ass, sadistic c-‘ Derek’s thought is interrupted as Danny punches him for a third time in the shoulder.

“I heard fags like you like to get shoved around, how about I shove you a little harder you little sissy.” Danny growls out again as he slaps Derek across the face.

His whole body is on fire and a metallic taste on his tongue lets him know that he has bitten his tongue too hard.

“I’m going to fuck you up fag.” Danny half-whispers into his ear as he rears his fist back.

It is at this point in time that Derek closes his eyes and thinks of home.

There’s a rush of air and a sound of bodies colliding along with shocked screams and squeals.

Derek opens his eyes.

Stiles is on top of Danny, holding him down and giving him a look that would make a charging moose turn tail. His nostrils are flaring and for the first time in Derek’s whole memory he notes the fear in Danny’s eyes. All condescension and snark evaporate to present a terrified Hockey player who is staring death in the face.

Jennifer Blake walks out into the hallway and freezes.

At that moment, the strength in Derek’s knees gives out and he collapses to the floor. He hears the world around as he begins to slip into sleep.

There is the sound of Stiles’ fist connecting with Danny’s face.

Then there is the sound of Stiles sitting up and moving over to sit beside Derek.

Jennifer Blakes reedy, irritating voice. “Quick, somehow make love to him! It might help him heal faster!”

“Shut up you crazy bitch! Derek, hey can you hear me?”

Derek coughs and tries to open his eyes, everything is blurry and unfocused and he can make out Stiles’ face. He looks… concerned.

At that moment he passes out, from what he later believes is a combination of sheer exhaustion and pure disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Hales were harmed in the making of this chapter, although Jennulia Blakcari May have been...


	9. Chapter 9

When he wakes up from his sleep he realizes that there is someone standing over him.

“Stiles?”

“Hush now little Derek, don’t say a word. _Julia’s_ gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

 ‘Oh for fucks’ sake.’

Jennifer Blake is standing over him in what appears to be Beacon Hills’ clinic. As Derek has never received an injury worth merit until now, he has never been to the Clinic. More pressing is why his substitute math teacher is pulling a Glenn Close on him.

“Erm, Mrs. Blake? What are you doing here?”

She smiles cryptically and backs away from him slowly into a corner of the room. Suddenly Derek feels the distinct need for a spray bottle of holy water to deal with this situation. Perhaps a restraining order is more feasible.

The door to the clinic opens and a tall, leggy blonde with a heavily made up face strolls in, barely looking up from her clipboard as she strolls over to Derek’s cot. She looks up from her clipboard and gives a shy smile to Derek.

“Good afternoon Derek. I’m Miss Airgead, the school’s nurse. You’ve been out for a short while now.”

Derek hasn’t stopped looking at Jennifer Blake, who is inching along with wall, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while trying to reach the door.

“Derek, is something wrong?” Miss Airgead asks before following his eyes and turning around. Derek isn’t surprised that she jumps.

“Excuse me?! Ma’am are you family?”

Deer in the headlights look plastered on her face, Miss Blake nods her head in a slow, damning _no_

Miss Airgead is not pleased. “I need you to leave, _preferably now Ma’am.”_ Derek doesn’t miss the clear GTFO out of my room tone the nurse is sending to Blake. With a defeated pout she slithers out of the clinic and out into the hallways.

“All righty then, well that was creepy beyond words.”

“Nurse Airgead, that whole scene pretty much sums up my whole _day_.”

“I would imagine so, I took a look at those injuries while you were under. They aren’t pretty Derek, but so far there are no signs of internal bleeding or trauma insofar as I can tell.”

Derek nods, thankful for one thing that didn’t go completely tits up in his personal life. Then again, things never approached calamitous levels in his personal life; instead they had a tendency to get just bad enough to be irritating while remaining well above the qualification of disastrous.

“How long have I been out?”

“Roughly an hour. At first you went into shock, but we attributed that to the adrenaline wearing off and fatigue setting in. You were stable however, which was enough for someone to make the decision to not call the squad and have you taken to the hospital.”

Derek’s eyes comically widen. “Wait, that’s a thing? I mean, you can make the executive decision to not send someone to a hospital?!”

Nurse Airgead holds her hands out in surrender. “Not myself, although I still would like you to go to a physician and get checked out. I just can’t make you go on school time. I would but my hands are tied.”

Derek realizes that this whole charade has him more worried than the fact that he looks like he pissed off a bunch of skinheads in a dark K-Mart parking lot. “Who the hell didn’t want me to go to the hospital?”

The clinic door swings open, Principal Stiliniski strolling through with an ease to his posture that suggests he isn’t bothered in the slightest by the day’s turn of events. He’s dressed in a hideous brown pinstripe suit with a black dress shirt peeking through the front, with a brown paisley tie bringing the ensemble together. A sliver cross pin is fixed the man’s right breast and the look on his face is a sincerity so forced that Derek wonders if this is what English nobles looked like when they had to address peasants.

“Mr. Hale, Katherine. “ Principal Stiliniski nods, his face softening slightly when he addresses Kate but returning to false joviality when facing Derek.

“I see you’ve been stirring up some considerable trouble young man.” Stilinski mirthlessly chuckles. Derek doesn’t like the tone in the man’s voice, the condescension that rolls off of him in waves.

“Perhaps now you can assess your life choices that brought you to this point. It’s one thing to tease students, boys will be boys and all.” The Principal nods slowly as though reaffirming his logic for no one other than himself. “But there are consequences for immature behavior Mr. Hale. When you act in a specific manner, can you honestly expect students to not treat you in a specific way?”

Derek is still staring at the Principal, understanding every manicured response he’s producing. If he were to record this conversation and analyse it with no context it would sound like an administrator doing damage control in the wake of what could be a public relations nightmare.

But Derek wasn’t even offended by the callous professionalism. No, Derek thrived on professionalism and holding high standards in the realm of behavior. Today had been the first time in a long time he had broken away from maintaining strict standards of politesse and class.

What bothered Derek was the subtext of the Principal’s speech. _‘Words are wind Principal, show me your convictions.’_

“But sir, what exactly have I done to deserve _this_.” Derek moved the flat of his hand over his face in a languid, intent motion.

The Principal’s eyes harden, just ever so slightly. “Boys will be boys Mr. Hale. If they take to roughhousing they will be punished. Nothing further than that.”

“What will happen to Danny?”

“He’s not going to be punished.”

Derek remembers himself before the searing anger in within shows on his face.

“Allow me to get this straight, Mr. Stilinski: A hockey player physically assaults me in front of a crowd of students, a teacher, and your own son and you are not punishing him?”

Principal Stilinski doesn’t look phased. “If needs be, appropriate punishment will be administered. For now a simple warning will do.”

Nurse Airgead looks physically uncomfortable, but says nothing.

“I see. May I be excused sir?” Derek is using every fiber of his willpower to not leap up from the bed and punch Principal in the face.

A slight smirk creeps onto Stilinski’s face. “Right away Mr. Hale. And do remember, you are still not at all far into your academic career at Beacon Davis High School. It would be disappointing to see you run off the rails so early into your stay here.”

‘Threatening injured students into obedience, classy job Principal Stilinski.’

“I plan on remaining right on the rails Sir.” Derek musters up a smile.

Satisfied, Principal Stilinski nods and dismisses himself.

Nurse Airgead sighs. “I’m sorry you had to see Jo- Principal Stilinski like that Derek. He’s a good man-“

“Oh yes, I’m sure he’s a paragon of moral fortitude.” Derek spits out.

Nurse Airgead purses her lips and hands Derek three Advil and a small cup of water from the medical counter. “This should help with some of the immediate pain. I recommend you get rest and avoid sexual contact for the next week while your bruises heal.”

“What makes you think that I…?” Derek is cut off when Nurse Airgead opens up the cabinet beneath the sink and notes the rows upon rows of plastic tubes of cream lined up in order. She hands it to Derek before opening the top cabinets hung above the counter.

Arnica Cream. Without looking at him Nurse Airgead instructs him to apply it twice a day to the worst of his bruises.

“How did you know I was having sexual contact?” Derek asks dumbfoundedly.

Nurse Airgead turns around slowly giving Derek a spectacular raised eyebrow. She pulls out a pamphlet from the back of the cabinet and hands it to Derek as though it were contraband.

_“What did I do wrong? A Beginner’s Guide to Coping with Relationship Abuse.”_

‘Oh for fucks’ sake.’

“Thank you Nurse Airgead for the Arnica, but I don’t have to worry about the relationship thing. I’m not actually dating Danny.”

She looks slightly taken aback. “But you have marks…”

Derek blushes slightly “Not from Danny.”

Nurse Airgead nods slowly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Well if you use the Arnica cream and don’t exert yourself the bruises should fade in two weeks or so.”

Derek nods and leaves the clinic to go home.

* * *

 

When Derek arrives home he goes inside and heads straight upstairs to assess the damage. It’s… far from good.

There are bruises along his left side, across his ribs. He touches one and recoils at the ache. It hurts, but it doesn’t feel cracked. There’s a discolored blotch in the center of his gut, and his shoulder shows a similar bruise. As a whole the injuries are concealable and shouldn’t cause too much concern. He takes the tube of Arnica Cream and gingerly applies some to his ‘battle scars’ before pulling his shirt on and heading downstairs.

He finds Laura sitting in the living room watching Pop-up video on VH1 classic. He takes a seat next to her and watches the program in silence. It goes on for a good ten minutes before a commercial airs. Laura picks up the remote next to her and presses the pause button.

“How do you want to handle this.”

“That’s… oddly submissive of you Laura.”

“Don’t dodge the question baby bro. How.Do.You.Want.To.Handle. _This_.”

“With minimal drama and theatrics. I’ll let the bruises fade and allow this to slip by without any incident.”

“So Danny wins? You’re just going to roll over?”

“No big sister, far from it. I don’t want to turn this into an official event. Getting mom and dad involved is not a good idea.”

Derek looks his sister straight in the eyes. “But just because I don’t want to pursue action doesn’t mean that I won’t pursue revenge.”

“Danny, Erica, fucking Principal Stilinski. All of them, one step at a time Laura. And when their joy is turned to ashes in their mouths, then they will know the debt is repaid.”

Laura looks and him and nods solemnly. “You know Derek, you would sound about ten times more threatening if you weren’t quoting Game of Thrones.”

Derek has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. “It sounded cool.”

Laura laughs and ruffles his hair. “Baby bro, we’ll get back at these fuckers, one step at a time.”

Derek smiles brightly. ‘I’ll stay right on the rails Mister Stilinski. But by the time the train reaches the station, there _will_ be a new conductor.”

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please rate and review!**

**Props to 74Days for alerting me to the existence of Arnica, which is a scientifically proven bruise reduction formula. She's the best, and if you haven't read her stuff you need to go do that because it's fantastic!**


	10. Chapter 10

_Derek: Dinner tonight, perhaps a movie is in the cards?_

_Stiles: Food?_

_Derek: Typically the staple of Dinner, yes Stiles. :P_

_Stiles: Jackass. What kind of food?_

_Derek: Oh I think mom is making Italian. Something loaded with cream sauces and herbs._

_Derek: At six._

_Stiles: Movie of the night?_

_Derek: We can decide later. My uncle is giving me mean looks._

“Derek, put your phone away. No games in my classroom.”

“Sorry Uncle Peter. Tetris is addictive.”

“So is cocaine, but I highly advise you refrain from partaking in that as well.”

Derek catches Stiles smirking out of the corner of his eyes. The _bastard…_

It’s been three days since Danny attacked him, and things have calmed down to reasonable levels. Jennifer Blake is still attempting to win stalker of the year award; Erica is still a fundamentalist twat; Danny has backed off, if only because he’s confused and scared of the consequences that will come from doing something so brash again.

And Stiles has remained distant but concerned. Derek hopes to correct the former tonight.

* * *

 

Dinner is delicious (Who is Derek _kidding_ ; his mother could be a domestic goddess if she wanted to. Even her self-proclaimed _misfires_ are heavenly) and the talk around the table is light hearted and without controversy.

Derek doesn’t miss the little displays Stiles shows. A fleeting touch when passing the breadbasket; The foot nestled next to his own; a reassuring hand occasionally stroking his thigh. Derek is afraid of passing out due to disproportionate blood flow away from his vital organs and straight to his dick.

Derek also doesn’t miss the little looks Susan and Martin cast towards each other throughout dinner.

After dinner the two retreat away from the table and upstairs to the movie room. As soon as Stiles closes the door Derek flings himself at him.

He wraps his arms around Stiles neck and smashes their mouths together, the two of them devouring each other’s lips.

Stiles grabs Derek’s ass and lifts him up as though he weighed nothing, not once breaking mouth-to-mouth contact. With Derek’s legs wrapped around Stiles’ waist, Stiles gently presses Derek up against the wall adjacent to the door and grinds against the younger man.

Derek moans through Stiles’ mouth, forcing the burly Hockey Player to growl and push harder against Derek. Over and over again, the rhythmic undulations of Stiles as he thrusts against Derek’s ass, both boys lost in utter bliss.

Suddenly Stiles picks up tempo, grinding with greater speed, with heightened urgency even. Again and again until-

“Mmmmmfffummmmphhhh.” Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth, back arched and body taut against the slim nerd as his mind clears away the haze of teenage orgasm. Derek is still against the wall, dick straining against the inside of his jeans.

Stiles gently places Derek down, suddenly very aware of the boy’s bruises and looking mortified.

“Oh fuck, Derek I didn’t mean to…” Stiles stumbles as he tries to locate his lost composure. Derek suppresses a smirk and instead runs his hand through Stiles’ buzz cut.

“They don’t ache as much, so no need for the sympathy Stiles.”

Stiles face hardens a little bit, but he laughs nonetheless, eyes darting to the rather obvious hard on in Derek’s jeans. His eyes lazily travel back up the geography of Derek’s torso until they meet with his eyes. With a wide grin he places his hands underneath Derek’s shirt, hands memorizing the smooth skin. As he passes over the pectorals he lets his thumbs brush over Derek’s nipples. Derek’s back goes concave as he tries to prevent himself from coming too soon.

Stiles smirks again, and Derek realizes that he has never seen Stiles smirk that way in class, or around the school. Even when they were working together at Monk’s did he notice Stiles unguarded smirks.

He feels… privileged to a degree. He also finds himself yanked away from the theoretical as Stiles traces fingers down Derek’s shoulder blades and along the contour of his back. Simultaneously, Stiles moves besides Derek’s left ear and licks along the earlobe and up towards the tragus. Derek’s hands are moving all over Stiles’ chest, admiring the tight, dense musculature and scolding body temperature.

Stiles hands drifted further south, reaching under the waistband of his jeans, past his briefs and over his ass, squeezing firmly while husking in Derek’s ears. “All. _Mine_.” He accentuates each word with a squeeze before returning to turning the whole of Derek’s ear into a swamp.

The sensations however, are a little too much to bear.

“Fuck!” Derek hisses as he explodes inside his jeans, pulsing come until he slumps against Stiles, thoroughly tired and ready to rest.

Stiles chuckles and lifts Derek in his arms, Bridal style, as he carries him to the couch. Derek mumbles against Stiles tightly fitted shirt.

“Yeah Der? What movie?”

Sleepily, Derek grins back and replies. “There will be blood.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Because you couldn’t just cheat and go with something less intense.”

Derek scoffs against Stiles’ shirt. “Watching The Princess Bride will not get you past Peter’s class.”

Stiles looks down at Derek, ruffles his hair and whispers. “Inconceivable.”

* * *

 

It’s late when Stiles leaves. Derek is passed out on the couch, and while he considers the risks he eventually decides to move Derek into his bedroom. Stiles finds himself having to use intense discipline when he shucks off Derek’s shirt and jeans. He’s a thin kid, sure. But he’s a _hot_ , thin kid.

While he’s still figuring out the dynamics of their relationship, he sure as hell doesn’t feel uncomfortable stripping Derek naked and putting him in fresh clothes. But he decides not to chance it and instead just slides him under the covers of his bed. With a light kiss on the top of his head, Stiles says goodnight to Derek and departs.

He steps outside and onto the front porch of the Hale household, a massive wraparound deal that is filled with chairs and small tables and Wind Chimes when he catches a figure out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, my wife absolutely hates cigarette smoke. She despises it with a vehemence seen only in fundamentalists and starving men. Truly, I can’t step foot inside of the house with one of these lit or she will _skin me alive_.” Martin Hale chuckles, a half used cigarette sticking out of his mouth.

Stiles doesn’t move, because for the first time in his life he feels threatened by a man who isn’t his father, and for the first time in the weeks since he formally met Derek has he felt intimidated by Martin.

“But I like them nonetheless, and I listen to Susie because I hate it when we squabble about the stupid things in our lives. The inane bullshit that colors other people’s lives is a little too trite for the both of us. So we mature past our _equals_ and put up with the bullshit so we can get on with our lives.” He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and exhales, a plume of smoke issuing from his lips. Martin fixes his eyes on Stiles, and for the first time Stiles realizes the sharpness of his eyes. Typically when he has seen Martin the man looks adrift in another world, listening to conversations with one ear while focusing on something else entirely with the other.

The glazed over look is gone completely, but the eyes remain just as brilliant and cutting as they did during the several dinners they have shared.

“Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ gets past my wife. She’s got the eyes of a Raptor and the ears of a fox. For the record, nothing gets past me either.”

“Mister Hale I-“

“Quiet Stilinski, you can defend yourself when I’m finished.” The tone is visceral, and Stiles recoils.

“A little fear, a little _deference_ even. Good. So many young men like you are cocky, arrogant, afraid of nothing and eager to take on everything. It’s a policy that does well in some aspects of life but falls unceremoniously flat in others.”

Stiles bites his tongue and watches Martin intently.

“I’ve never cared if Derek was into boys or girls or even… both?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Stiles, as if looking for validation.

Stiles nods his head to the side. Derek doesn’t strike him as a ladies’ man.

Martin shrugs. “Regardless, I don’t care who he loves, so long as they treat him right. Susie has always been there to clean up my messes, and I’ve always been there to shield her from the words of her family. We look after each other, and we’ve built a life on it. On compromises.” Martin idly flicks the ash off of his cigarette before placing it back in his mouth and taking a no-handed drag.

“I don’t think you two will end up getting married, but the point stands Genim Stilinski. You will respect my son, you will treat him with care and concern, and if I hear a whisper of you mistreating him in any way whatsoever…” Martin takes two small, even steps towards Stiles.

“I won’t. I don’t know what I feel for him, and I didn’t even realize I was… into Derek. Not for a long while. I’ve been with girls. I’ve fucked around. But I can’t ever admit to mistreating anyone that way. I’m not like the others.” Stiles surges back, engulfed by raw feeling.

“You seem like a good kid, but I _hear_ things, boy, from coworkers and friends alike. _The Iceman cometh and lay the frosty can of whoop-ass upon his foes.”_

“If you ever, and I mean ever lay a hand on my son like you’ve done to some of these other boys, I will end you. Not intimidated Mister Stilinski? I wrote my thesis on toxicity of commonplace plants. Don’t fuck with the son of the man whose Doctorate was built upon the ability to procure and subject patients to a cornucopia of toxic materials.” Martin exhales the smoke right into Stiles area.

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, but he feels utterly terrified. The Hales aren’t bad people but he can understand the fear behind the rest of Beacon Hills: Intensity does not a gentleman make.

“I understand Mr. Hale. I… need to be going now.” With some base instincts kicking in, Stiles moves off the porch and towards his Camaro.

Martin nods and takes another drag of his cigarette.

_‘Let’s see if the boy is anything like his dear old dad.’_

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

“If you aren’t pirating toasted banana wheel’s new LP, you aren’t living up to my standards of musical taste.”

“Isn’t pirating a bad thing Scott?”

“Only if you’re a square mon petit Cherie. Which you might be. I know your mom has several right angles.”

“Erm, Pirating isn’t really okay period Scott. Especially if it’s an indie band like Toasted Banana Wheel. To be fair, Toasted Banana Wheel can’t afford to have you pirate their albums period, if you know what I mean.” Boyd finishes with a cutesy eye roll.

“I am conflicted. I wish to support both the artists, who build great wonders through film and music alike, yet I empathize with the market, who are strangled in the capitalist vise of the distributors. What _is_ a protestor to do?”

“I didn’t know you could distribute things online? I thought the internet was Intangleable.”

Scott makes a sour face at Allison. “Intangible. And don’t think so hard chica, it’s not really your thing.”

Jackson frowns at Scott, most likely thinking the same thing Derek is: What a prick.

The five of them are eating lunch in the cafeteria, with Derek having brought enough leftovers for his friends to share. Derek ignores the insecure feeling that implicates his friends being around him for his mother’s cooking.

It’s entirely possible really; he would totally be friends with Erica or Greenberg if their mothers had kickass culinary skills.

Not that they would actually share. Apparently the whole compassion and selflessness of the good book was lost on “Pastor” Reyes.

“I like to think though. I think I can think if I want.” Allison nods to herself and smiles lightly.

Scott rolls his eyes and resumes arguing with Boyd over the Musical talents of Toasted Banana Wheel. Jackson scrumptiously consumes his pasta, picking out the bits of meat while hunting for the vegetables. Allison begins to return to the void she mentally occupies when she isn’t included in anything. At that moment Derek feels like including her, if only to keep her from burrowing back into her shell.

“How are your classes going Ali? Enjoying Ms. McCall’s theatre class?”

Allison slowly raises her eyes from the void beyond Derek’s shoulder, her eyes making contact with Derek’s and her mouth forming a smile. Silent thanks for looking past everything and treating her like a person, as opposed to a prop.

Allison’s gaze moves down just south of his eyes towards the open collar of his neck- ‘OH FUCK!’

“Derek… why do you have bruises on your neck?”

The rest of the table goes dead silent, three pairs of eyes honing in on him at once. “Erm, it’s nothing Ali. Really.”

Scott raises an eyebrow, while Jackson looks concerned. Boyd, sitting adjacent to him, pulls back his collar to fully expose the otherwise hidden hickey on his neck.

Say what you will about Allison’s lack of coordination and mental faculties, the girl has eyes like a _hawk_.

“Huh. Good on you man.” Boyd resumes eating, despite the Laura Hale certified glare of fiery death Derek is giving him. Scott looks slightly repulsed. Jackson looks torn between being congratulatory and looking hurt.

“I think it’s sweet. Derek must have a really loving boyfriend.” Allison innocently replies from across the table.

Jackson finally speaks out. “Boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?”

Scott scoffs. “I didn’t realize vacuum cleaners counted as dateable material.”

“Piss off Scott, not every opportunity is present for you to attempt Wilde.”

Scott rolls his eyes and adjusts his sunglasses, which he is wearing inside like a gargantuan tool.

At this point, Derek can’t comprehend this situation getting worse.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a regular tribe of _heathens_.”

_Fuckity fuck fuck._

“Why Erica china doll, don’t you look ravishing?” Boyd plays from his seat.

“You would think only about carnal thoughts Jazz Man.”

“I’m smoother than Barry White, and you’ve got me groovin’ sweet thang.” Boyd dramatically intones, sliding every vowel down the scale with sheer finesse.

Erica, standing at the head of the table, looks only slightly uncomfortable.

“I just wanted to drop by and remind the sodomite that God’s swift wrath will be…” She struggles to think of another adjective, because like the dullard she is she already used swift as her first descriptor.

“Damning?” Derek supplies with a nonchalant hand.

“Damning!” She exclaims, waving at Derek with a flashy smile before realizing who helped her out and resuming her scowl.

“All around you surround yourself with liberal heathens, apes, whores and profligates.”

“Whoa whoa _whoa!_ Did you just say _apes_? What the hell does _that_ mean?” Jackson snarls.

Erica looks back towards Boyd and raises an eyebrow.

The whole table is equal parts angry and utterly mortified by the waste of human flesh standing before them.

“And I wanted to let you know that you are all going straight to hell. Maybe the Islander will send the Sodomite right there.”

“Oh so Danny gets a free pass from his skankitude because he hits me? Real _Hypo-Christianal_ of you Erica.” Derek seethes.

Erica merely smirks, imitating the cat who swallowed the fucking canary.

“Oy, Pensatucky! You ready to throw down?!”

The cat chokes on her prize, sputtering as she turns around to face Isaac

“My name’s Erica, I’m from-“

“No one asked where the fuck you came from you raging fanny. Why are you bothering the sibling of my lady love?”

“I’m doing my Christian duty-“

“No, you’re being a right twat about your faith. Bit of a difference really.” Isaac picks his ears and examines it, finding more interest in it than Erica. Derek suppresses a grin to allow Isaac to have the stage. The cafeteria has gone silent as they listen to one of Isaac’s searing tear downs.

“How dare you-“

“How dare you madam, if I can even call you that. You strike me more like the ooze that they dredge up from the sewers, with an arse and face exchanged for good measure.”

“But I-“

“And what was that about Profligates and whores? I’m sure your salesman father and former pornstar mother would love to hear about your loverly ideas on the subjects.”

Erica is visibly shaking now. “My mother!-“

Isaac leans in close, and speaks so only his table can hear. “Cinnamon. Dreamz. Look her up with Google, or Bing. Yeah you look like a Bing sort of Girl.”

“I-“

“And what age did you slovenly stroll out of? Reconstruction? Since when is it ever ok to refer to a black person as an ape?! Good God girl, what is your damage?”

Erica looks defeated now, the defeat has set in, and Isaac only looks like he’s getting warmed up.

Something stirs in Derek, a reminder. “Hey Isaac. I think if Erica apologises, we can be cool. Right Erica?” Derek hopes she’ll take the out.

Erica turns to Derek, eyes streaked with tears of furious shame. “Not now. Not ever.” Erica proceeds to storm off, with Isaac looking ever pleased with himself. The cafeteria roars in cheers for the victor.

Derek doesn’t know what to do at this point. He throws his hands up in the air.

Gerard Silver stumbles into the Cafeteria. “STOP IT, STOP IT! THERE’LL BE NO MORE OF THAT NOW!” Flailing his arms about in frustration, Mr. Silver vainly attempts to get the cafeteria in order.

* * *

 

Peter doesn’t know what to do at this moment.

The math substitute, he thinks her name is something with a J, is sitting in his chair with her long milky legs up on his desk.

“Can I help you…?”

The sub sits up and gets out of her chair with nubile ease. She strides over to Peter, pulls a pack of Lucky Apples from her pocket and a plastic BiC lighter from the opposite one. She pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

Peter jumps backwards briefly. “Woah, hey now. Fire and I don’t mix too well.” He chuckles with unease. The sub inhales, plucks the cigarette from her lips, and blows the smoke in his direction.

“You’re Derek’s uncle, aren’t you Mister Hale?” The sub’s eyes shine with malice.

Peter, for the first time in years, feels uneasy in the presence of a woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop culture references *Buzz waves* Pop culture references everywhere.


	12. Chapter 12

The soulfully blue notes of Boyd’s piano wove throughout the cafe and spilt into the dusky streets of Beacon Hills, all the while flooding Derek’s heart. As he nursed a Café au Lait he considered the events which had brought him to this point, the events and their preceding decisions that had left him as they had.

 

“Awww shit, flashback time.” Derek muttered, dangerously genre savvy as his conscious faded and his memory hijacked the tram.

* * *

  _October: Four weeks prior…_

“Halloween is next week! What slutty creature are you going as?” Laura queried, vibrating with excitement.

Derek, Boyd, Isaac, Scott and Allison followed their breasted, Punk Jesus across the grounds of BHHS.

“Dr. Frank-N-Furter.” Isaac lilted.

“Black Kitten!” Allison squeed.

“Bootsy Collins.” Boyd assured.

“Pregnant Nun!” Laura cackled.

“A garbage bag with Jonathan Franzen’s face cut out to the front of it.” Scott stated matter of factly.

“Pretension isn’t slutty Scott.” Laura chided, Jean Brodie oozing from her pores.

Scott held his ground however. “What could be looser than the sellout actions of one of this generation’s greatest writers?”

Derek openly scoffed. “Right, because we started defining greatest by the number of clichés writers could narrowly dodge in their books.”

“What are you implying Derek, prince of cads?”

“I’m saying he wasn’t ‘all that’ to begin with. If you wear his face on your garbage bag, you may as well be stating you represent his entire career rather than his personal douchebaggery.”

Scott’s lips pursed.

“Biting critique boyo. What skanky creature will you be masking as?”

“Head Cheerleader sounds good, if a little too close to home for our dearest Derek.”

Derek would have given Scott Laura’s trademark glance if she hadn’t beaten him to it. Whilst Allison hit the brick wall of understanding in her mind, Isaac and Boyd glanced at each other in silence using either telepathy or silent bro code to communicate the situation. Scott, in his infinite petulance, barely registered the glance.

“He’d be prettier as something smart, like him. Maybe a doctor?” Allison supplied whilst blissfully unaware of the fifty shades of tension reverberating around the group.

 

“Right, Doctor. I can live with that.” Derek closed with strained finality, sprinting off towards the parking lot and away from the inquisitive eyes of his friends, and away from the surprising knowledge of Scott McCall, the boy who once loved nothing more than a bit of self-deprecation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment or review! :D


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